


The Line Between

by too_addicted_to_fiction



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 60,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_addicted_to_fiction/pseuds/too_addicted_to_fiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a rival tribe of Grounders attacks a peace summit, Clarke and the others find themselves prisoners of a dangerous enemy once again. But when these new enemies take a special interest in Clarke, it’s up to Bellamy to save her, even whilst fighting his own inner demons. Post-Mt. Weather rescue. Bellarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Line Between

 Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters, but I seriously love them!

Chapter 1

 

The first thing she noticed was that she couldn’t roll over. Clarke groaned as she came to. She’d tried to roll over on her side, but she couldn’t; her left arm seemed to be restrained somehow, and it was keeping her from leaning too far that way. She blearily blinked her eyes open, trying to take in her surroundings.

 

The last thing she’d remembered was that she was being at a peace summit with Lexa, several other Grounder leaders, and other Arkers and members of the original 100. The rescue of their people from Mt. Weather had not been easy; they’d lost many casualties, particularly from Lexa’s army, but also from some of the Arkers who’d joined the attack. Not to mention the Mt. Weather citizens who hadn’t made it deep enough into the mountain during the attack, when the containment systems had sent doors slamming down, trapping people in poison-soaked air.

 

And even though Clarke was grateful that they’d managed to save so many of their people and fight side by side with Lexa’s Grounder army, she knew that no one had come away from this battle, unscathed, including her. And not just physically – everyone had new demons, horrifying nightmares that lurked in the shadows of the mind. Clarke had seen what that mission had done to Lincoln. He hadn’t been able to withstand the allure of the drug they’d so mercilessly addicted him to; he had betrayed his lover’s brother, and Clarke knew he felt he could never forgive himself. But Lincoln was strong. Clarke only hoped Octavia could forgive him for what had happened. The last time she’d seen them, Octavia had been torn. She was so in love with Lincoln, but his actions had caused so much pain for Bellamy, who had almost died and had undergone horrors that no one else could imagine while in the mountain.

 

Bellamy. He’d only just barely managed to get out of his predicament after having been “harvested.” He was skittish, almost as if human contact were too much for him. This was the Bellamy who had led the 100 through his charisma and charm alone, who could have charmed a dead stump if he’d needed to. Now, when Clarke looked at him, it was almost as if that part of him had died, drained away with the blood they’d stolen from his body. And it was all her fault.

 

She had been the one to callously send him off to Mt. Weather. Yes, that action had ultimately allowed them to contact him once he had managed to escape his confines, and he had passed the directives along to Lexa’s people on the inside; without him, the 48 would likely still be locked up on the inside, Clarke and Lexa unable to infiltrate the previously impenetrable mountain. Without him, many more would have died, with less chance of success. Once again, Bellamy had been the leader that everyone needed, and Clarke? She was the cold, heartless bitch that had sent one of her closest companions to die.

 

And was he just a companion? Clarke didn’t know what Bellamy was to her. He was just this stupid brute at the beginning, who’d done things for his own selfish gain, like stealing the radio when Raven had first touched down, and almost going off on his own. But when Clarke had realized that he’d intended to leave, it was like something inside had snapped; some little voice had shouted, _No! He can’t go!_ And she’d spent the next few days trying to decipher what that meant. Did she need him as a co-leader? As a friend? Just what was Bellamy Blake to her?

 

When he’d returned from Mt. Weather, he hadn’t even been able to look at her. Perhaps it was that he was traumatized, or maybe it was that he felt betrayed. The last words they’d shared had been when she’d told him, “It’s worth the risk.” And she could never take it back.

 

But Bellamy had still stood beside her at the peace summit, his presence strong and reassuring. They were there to solidify the tenuous peace pact between Lexa’s clan of Tree People and the Sky People, and things had seemed to be going well until a flurry of flaming arrows had lit the tent on fire. Clarke hadn’t had time to react, though, as something knocked her out. Her last thought was that Lexa had seemed just as confused at first, though her features had quickly melted into a snarl as she cursed, “ _Gonakru_! Desert Tribe!”

 

The sound of a door pushing open had Clarke sitting upright quickly, though her head pounded with the sudden movement. She looked down, noticing that jacket was gone, leaving her in a tight shirt, jeans, and boots. Her left wrist was tied to the wall, and there seemed to be no one else around. The room itself seemed nice, and it looked to be rounded, like the inside of a hut. It was furnished with various weapons and animal pelts, and a large pallet sat in the middle of the room. Near Clarke was a bowl of water, and as soon as she saw it, Clarke was greedily chugging it down.

 

She looked up as she saw two Grounders approaching her, but their garb was definitely different. They wore lighter colors, as opposed to the dark clothes that Lexa’s tribe wore to camouflage themselves in the forest. They seemed to be fully wrapped in a light material, which reminded Clarke of the books she’d once read about some place called the Sahara desert, and the traders that would cross through its treacherous sands. They stopped as they neared, saying nothing as they observed her. It seemed like she would have to make the first move.

 

“Where are my people?” she tried. Neither batted an eye. “What am I doing here? What do you want with me?”

 

She tried to stand, but the restraint on her wrist jerked her back, and she hissed through her teeth as it chafed her skin. One man spoke quickly to the other, but Clarke couldn’t understand; she’d gotten better at the Grounders’ language, but their dialect was different, and spoken so fast. The man turned to her. “What is your name?” he ground out, and Clarke had to concentrate through his accent.

 

She didn’t respond at first, and he was suddenly very near her, pushing her up against the wall behind her. His hand gripped her chin tightly, and her hands came around to fight him. But she found herself sluggish, and he easily caught her wrists. “The water… What did you do to me?”

 

“It is a root used for sedation. It has no lasting effects. Now tell me – what is your name?”

 

Clarke used her foot to stamp his instep, and he grunted. She lifted her leg to knee him in the groin, but he had wised up to her fighting spirit, and he pinned her further against the wall. “I am under orders not to mark you up, _goufa_ , but that does not mean I have to be gentle.” He emphasized this by slamming her head back into the wall, and dots danced across her vision. “Now what is your name?”

 

“Kiss my ass,” she said lowly, trying to keep up a brave front. She was really starting to grow worried. There was no sign of any of her people, and she didn’t know where she was, but these were clearly no allies of Lexa’s army.

 

“That can be arranged,” the man holding her chuckled.

 

Finally, the second one, who had remained silent and was clearly the superior of the two, barked out an order, and the man holding her backed off. Clarke rubbed the back of her head, looking over to where the leader was standing, his gaze fixed on her. Clarke felt a shiver race up her spine. She didn’t like the intent in his eyes at all, and she felt like she was in a world of trouble.

 

* * *

 

“Bellamy… Bellamy! C’mon, wake up.”

 

Bellamy swatted at whoever was trying to wake him up. He hadn’t had a good night in sleep in God knows how long. Instead, he saw scissors, pipes, instruments and tools… Needles that penetrated his skin, machines that rigged him upside down, draining his life’s blood from him slowly but surely… The mental images flooded him, and his eyes shot open in an attempt to save him from the horrifying nightmares that plagued him whenever his lids felt closed.

 

He saw Octavia next to him, Nyko behind her. “Bell, thank goodness. They conked you out pretty hard, though Nyko said your vitals seemed stable.”

 

Bellamy nodded to Lexa’s healer before he turned to Octavia. “O, what _happened_?”

 

“The Desert Tribe. They attacked us. They must have been laying in wait, knowing that our forces were weakened after the fight against the Mountain,” Nyko said.

 

Bellamy looked around. They seemed to be in some sort of pen. He searched his body for his gun… Only to come up empty. He was missing his jacket as well, stripped down to his pants, shirt, and shoes. All of his weapons were missing, including the knife hidden in his boots. Whoever had searched him had been thorough, and he grit his teeth. “So where are we now?”

 

“The _Trigedakru_ seem to think we’ve been captured, brought back here to work as laborers for the Desert Tribe,” Octavia said, the words coming out in a rush. Bellamy knew how brave and fierce his little sister was, but he could tell she was afraid. Hell, he knew he should be afraid. He wondered if he’d ever be afraid again, after all he’d been through.

 

“We have to escape,” Bellamy said, taking stock. “How many of us are here?”

 

He looked around. There had to be at least 50 of their people. He shook his head. Couldn’t they catch a break? First captured by the Mountain Men, and now this?

 

“They did not get all of us. Lexa and Indra escaped, along with several of your people,” Nyko stated. “They will come after us in full retaliation.”

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to wait around for the rescue party.” Bellamy had never been one to be patient. “I say we get the Hell out of Dodge sooner rather than later.”

 

Nyko gave Bellamy a blank look, but there wasn’t time to explain. Bellamy stood, creeping along the edges of the pen. He stopped when heard a tent flap open as three large and very covered Grounders entered. “The Desert Tribe,” Nyko whispered.

 

Bellamy noticed that they were covered head to toe in lighter clothes than the Grounders in the forest normally wore. Bellamy had never seen the desert, but his mother had read many books and tales to him and Octavia when he was younger, so he could imagine the pallor of the sand, the heat of the sun. The Desert Men seemed to be talking, and Bellamy bent down, crawling closer. Nyko and Octavia followed.

 

The conversation lasted a few minutes, and Bellamy could barely make out what they were saying. A gate to the pen suddenly opened as two of them stepped inside, their eyes alighting on Octavia. One of them reached down, grabbing for her wrist, and she shot out to stop him, felling the man. The second man had a knife to her throat almost immediately, and Bellamy nearly saw red as he tackled him. The third man threw him off, dragging him out of the pen. The first two Desert men followed, and Bellamy found himself being held by two of them as the third punched him in the stomach. He choked out a gasp, but he spit in one of their faces. “That all you got?”

 

That of course earned him another punch, but Bellamy didn’t regret it. Nobody touched his little sister and got away with it. Bellamy found himself being dragged out, Octavia screaming, “Bellamy!”

 

He squinted as the sun beamed down on him, and he was dragged over to a large pole. The Desert Men strung him up, and Bellamy grunted in pain as his arms were forced to hold his weight. At least he wasn’t upside down…

 

The men began speaking to one another, and Bellamy found himself thankful that Lincoln had taught him so much of the Grounder language. These three had accents, but he fortunately knew enough to decipher the gist of what was being said. “ – ready to put these savages to work,” one was saying.

 

“We are waiting on the Commander’s order. He’s been preoccupied this afternoon.”

 

The other two chuckled, uncaring as Bellamy writhed under the uncomfortable heat of the sun, his wrists already chafing. “I heard. Some new plaything.”

 

“Brought in from this batch. Very exotic-looking.”

 

Bellamy stopped shifting, focusing all of his efforts on their conversation.

 

“He seemed very pleased when she was presented to him. Almost enough to appease him for the failure to capture Lexa.”

 

“His merciful mood won’t last for long. Someone will pay for that for sure.”

 

The three Desert Men seemed to notice Bellamy staring, and they hushed. He realized that he needed to keep up the façade of ignorance, and he shouted at them. “Hey! Why don’t you say that in English, see how brave you feel then saying it to my face, huh?”

 

This seemed to do the trick, and the men turned away from him. “He does not understand,” one of them assured, and Bellamy internally breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“He is from the same tribe as the Commander’s new pet. They were found near each other when they were knocked unconscious.”

 

“What does she look like? I did not catch a good look at her.”

 

“She’s said to have eyes the color of the sky, and hair the color of the sun. Very beautiful. What I’d give to have one night…” The men continued on, their conversation growing lewder, and Bellamy felt blood roaring through his ears. He had a terrible sinking feeling he knew who they were talking about.

 

“Apparently she has quite a mouth on her,” one of the men chuckled, and Bellamy couldn’t say how, but he just _knew_. There was no longer any doubt in his mind.

 

They were talking about Clarke. He had to save her, before it was too late.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters.

Chapter 2

 

Clarke took a wide stance as the leader of the two men stepped closer to her, appraising her as he began to circle. She felt like a wounded animal, trapped by a predator that knew it had her right where it wanted her, and though she wanted to take a step back, she knew she could show no fear. But the drugged water had left her slow and sluggish, and her body was beginning to falter even now. The man stepped closer.

 

“You ask about your people,” he began, voice smooth and calming. “You are _Heda_ of your tribe?”

 

Clarke knew that he was asking her if she was Commander, but she didn’t want to give away any more information than she had to. She chose to say nothing.

 

The man came closer. He was tall, with corded muscles and many scars that bespoke of his battle experienced. Were it another time, Clarke might have thought he was handsome, probably no more than five years older than herself, though his stature seemed to speak of experience and authority. Tattoos crisscrossed his face, and his dark eyes roved her up and down as he approached.

 

“I am Tygon, _Heda_ of the Desert Tribe.” Clarke said nothing, staring straight ahead as he stepped closer, completely invading her personal space.  Her heart pounded, her body taut even as it fought against the sedation. She was close enough to the wall that the rope restraining her wrist wouldn’t catch; perhaps if he drew closer, she would be able to lash out at him…

 

Tygon lifted a lock of her hair, inspecting it as if he found it to be absolutely fascinating. “It is customary to give your name once one has been given to you, is it not?” he continued, his fingers tucking the hair behind her ear. Clarke suddenly reared around, swinging her fists at him in an attempt to throw him off guard. Instead, he caught her fists in one hand, using the other to completely yank the cable from the wall. The rope split and frayed, and Clarke realized how strong this man must be. Still holding her fists in his hand, he wound the remains of the rope around both of her wrists, effectively immobilizing her.

 

The struggle had been too much. Clarke felt her knees began to buckle, and suddenly the man had moved, swept her up into his arms and was walking quickly toward the pallet at the center of the room.

 

Clarke’s heart began to pound, and she struggled, kicking out as best she could. “Don’t fucking touch me, you bastard.” She spat at him, but he seemed unfazed. Her struggles began to grow weaker, and she felt herself falling into an exhausted sleep. The last thing she knew was her body being placed onto the bed, and then her lids fell shut.

 

* * *

 

Well, this sucked. The sun was finally starting to go down, but it had been relentlessly beating down on him all day. Bellamy’s tongue shot out, trying to lick at his cracked lips. They’d left him here, strung up on this pole, for several hours now, and his arms ached from their uncompromising position. He worried for Octavia, but he knew that Nyko and the others would keep her safe. It was really Clarke who occupied his thoughts.

 

Ever since the mission to Mt. Weather, he hadn’t been able to see eye-to-eye with his co-leader. She’d essentially sent him on a suicide mission, and Bellamy couldn’t tell if she had actually cared enough about him to even weigh the risks before sending him through Hell. And it had been Hellish, for certain. Even hanging here in the blistering sun was nothing compared to having his body poked and prodded, pressure washed and reduced to a body bag to be drained of his life’s blood.

 

But what the Desert Men had said worried him. He was almost positive they’d been talking about Clarke, and he hadn’t liked what the men were implying. It seemed their tribe leader had something of a reputation when it came to pretty girls, and they all seemed fairly certain that he would soon have another conquest.

 

Part of Bellamy wanted to smirk. Their leader had another thing coming if he thought he could tame their Princess; Clarke wasn’t some damsel in distress who could be taken or traded. She was a badass who could take control of any situation, and while Bellamy believed in her almost completely, he also felt an overwhelming need to help her. He was still angry, still bitter over her call, but it had saved them all in the end during the attack on Mt. Weather, and he didn’t know what he felt towards Clarke now. His inner emotions were in such turmoil that he had no idea where anything stood.

 

All he knew right now was that he had to find Clarke, and he had to get out of the sun before his skin boiled even more. It was time he met with this so-called Desert Tribe leader.

 

* * *

  

When Clarke next awoke, she was still lying on the pallet, only this time, no rope was wrapped around her wrists. She didn’t feel pained, and though she woke with a sense of dread, her body didn’t feel like it had been violated. Instead, she felt refreshed, and she sat up, finding herself face-to-face with a young Desert Grounder.

 

The girl bowed her head, but her eyes were curious, almost as if she couldn’t stop staring. Finally, Clarke couldn’t take it anymore. “What?” she demanded.

 

“I’m sorry, _Heda_ , but your hair… It’s so light. And your eyes, they’re so beautiful.”

 

Clarke’s heart softened. This girl was young, probably around 14 years old, and she was merely astonished to see someone so fair; Clarke supposed years in the desert had allowed evolution to take its course, and certain genetic traits had become rare as a result. “What’s your name?” Clarke asked.

 

“Hava. I am here to assist you.”

 

Clarke leaned forward, intense. “Can you show me the way out of here, Hava?”

 

Hava seemed to draw back a little at this. “I meant in matters of the chamber, _Heda_. You cannot leave this room. Our own _Heda_ Tygon has declared it so. He also had me help you bathe and dress. Are the clothes to your liking?” Hava gestured to a large slate of blown glass, which Clarke realized must function like a mirror. Her eyes found her reflection.

 

For the first time, Clarke looked down and took stock of what she was wearing. She nearly choked out a laugh, but she was too shocked to do much other than stand there slack-jawed. She was wearing loose, billowy white pants, which made sense considering they were in the desert, but they ended in tight cuffs at her ankles.

 

That wasn’t so bad, Clarke supposed, but her upper body left a lot to be desired. She was wearing what she could only call a bra-let, and it did not leave much to the imagination. It seemed to be some kind of halter-top, also white, which showed all of her stomach, and _far_ too much cleavage. There was a beautiful gold beading on the top, with some sort of weird translucent finish; perhaps the radiation had done something to the material, but it almost seemed to glow gold, making Clarke look ethereal and bright. If this didn’t draw the eye straight towards her assets, she didn’t know what would. Clarke found herself wrapping her arms around her chest even though she was alone save for Hava.

 

“Hava,” she said, still taking in her reflection. “You changed me alone, right?” Clarke’s stomach turned, hoping that the two men she’d last been in the room with had departed by that point.

 

“Of course.”

 

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to finish her observations. To top it all off, a beautiful metallic tiara rested on her head, atop her blond hair that seemed to have everyone so mystified. Clarke wryly thought that if Bellamy could see her now, he would _never_ give up the whole Princess nickname.

 

Thinking of Bellamy made Clarke swallow hard. That man – Tygon – had mentioned her people. If she had to guess, this tribe would not have just stopped at grabbing one girl. Surely they’d captured others, and if that were true, then Clarke knew she had to rescue them. Now if only she could rescue herself.

 

“Hava, where are we right now?” Clarke turned to the girl, hoping that she could peacefully pry out any useful information before she made her getaway.

 

“We are in the Dead Zone, the Desert. My _kru_ live here.” Suddenly, Hava was leaning forward, excitedly, enthusiastically. “You will love it, _Heda_. The desert can be harsh, but also so beautiful. And I can already tell, you are kindhearted. Jago mentioned your fiery spirit – “

 

“Jago?”

 

Hava nodded. “Tygon’s Second. You must have met him when they both came in earlier. They were here when I was brought in to help tend to you.”

 

Clarke bit back a nasty retort about this Jago, but she still needed to know more. “And is there anyone else… like me here?”

 

“No one is like you. I thought that must be why Tygon is so interested in you, but I can see that you are smart and observant as well.”

 

Clarke was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She’d never put much thought into her looks. On the Ark, all that had mattered was her medical tutelage under her mom, and her time with her father and Wells. Then on the ground, life had been harsh; she had been forced to take on the mantle of leadership alongside Bellamy, and things had continued to slide out of control until they were finally able to get their people out of Mt. Weather.

 

“But Hava, please think – this is very important to me. Was there anyone else brought in around the same time as me? From the same place?”

 

Hava began to look uncomfortable, and Clarke’s instincts told her that she was right, that some of her people had been captured just like her. “Others did come in around the same time, but they are _Honon_.”

 

Prisoners. Clarke knew that word from the many discussions with Lexa about how to save both Arkers and Grounders alike from Mt. Weather. “Where are they?”

 

But Hava wasn’t going to say anymore. The girl might be young, but she was intuitive, and Clarke knew that she was sensing she’d gone too far, said too much. Clarke knew she had to do something, and quickly. “Hava,” she tried, switching tactics. “You’ve done a great job helping me get dressed, but… Do you have a comb?”

 

Hava looked confused, until Clarke ran her fingers through her blond hair, now clean from the grime and dirt that she’d somehow grown used to. “Something to brush out tangles?”

 

The young Desert Grounder grinned, pleased that she could help. She turned around, sifted through some sort of woven basket, and pulled out a comb. It seemed to be made out of some kind of hollowed bone, and Hava came closer to Clarke, as if to brush her hair for her. Clarke put up a hand. “Thank you, Hava, but I’d love to do it myself.”

 

Hava nodded, watching fascinated as Clarke quickly ran the comb through her hair. The fact that it was finally clean made Clarke’s hair seem even lighter, and these Desert Grounders seemed particularly taken with it.

 

Clarke faked a cough, and the girl was instantly on guard, worried for her new charge. “Are you all right, _Heda_?”

 

“I could use some water.”

 

“Of course.” Hava turned to find some water, and Clarke immediately broke off one of the comb’s teeth, holding the small, sharp bone in her hand. She noticed that her billowy pants seemed to have pockets, and she stashed the comb in there. Hava returned a moment later, holding a pitcher of water out. Clarke moved suddenly, knocking the pitcher away. It fell to the ground, the clay shattered and water spilled all over the floor.

 

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she said, almost feeling bad as Hava looked at the broken remnants of the pitcher.

 

“No, I apologize. I will find you more.” Determined, Hava set off towards the door. She knocked on it twice, and a large Desert Grounder guard opened it, looking at her. Hava muttered something, eyes downcast, and the guard’s eyes alit on the spilt pitcher before settled on Clarke. He grunted something back, and Hava slipped from the door. The guard closed it behind her, and Clarke heard a lock click into place.

 

Almost immediately, Clarke was up and heading towards the door. She held the comb tooth tight in her hand, and she immediately thrust it into the lock hole, hoping to force her way out. She’d never broken into or out of somewhere like this, but she had heard Miller talking about it, and she wished she’d listened to more of his tales.

 

The comb tooth broke, and Clarke let out a frustrated huff. She took out the comb, breaking off another tooth, and then immediately set to work again. This time, something seemed to click. Now, to take care of the guard…

 

The door slowly slid open, and the Grounder guard in the hallway didn’t notice. He seemed bored, and lazy, as if he knew nothing would happen at this post and it did not require his full attention. A second later, his eyes were rolling up in the back of his head as a clay vase came smashing down upon his head.

 

Clarke stepped over the guard’s body, looking around. The hut she’d thought she was in had turned out to be only one room, leading out into another covered hallway. She dashed along the hall, sticking close to the wall, and ducking low whenever she heard something.

 

She found herself in the back of some sort of meeting room, a large throne-like chair facing away from her. She crept along the outskirts of the room, realizing that this was like Lexa’s tent of command, where her officers reported back to her. She knew she had two options: she could turn back, try to find another way out, or she could sneak around the outskirts of this room and hope that it opened up to the outside.

 

Ever daring, Clarke thought about it for only a split-second. If this were an official hearing tent, where their Commander listened to reports and grievances, it made sense that it would have an outlet to the outside, for Grounders as they waited for their leader to hear them out. Clarke began to slink along the wall of the room when she saw the door. She couldn’t believe her luck when she saw no Desert Grounders guarding the exit.

 

And then a split second later, she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks.

 

“Where’s Clarke? Give her back.”

 

And there, in the center of the room, held in place by two Desert Grounders and looking extremely rough and extremely pissed off – and bizarrely red? – kneeled Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi! So I'm adding this story to AO3 from Fanfiction.net (if you want to read there, go to the author profile of too addicted to fiction). Would love to hear thoughts! xoxo, TATF


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 

Bellamy had realized that he needed to do something if he wanted to get an audience with whoever the Commander was here, if only to draw his attention away from Clarke. From what those men had said, this was no irregular occurrence, bringing in a pretty girl and wooing her, though they’d made it sound as if it was normally consensual, and Bellamy knew their leader would have another thing coming if he expected Clarke to just roll over and give in. Hell, the 100’s princess had a special knack for stirring up trouble and not doing what was expected. But, he supposed, maybe that’s why they were all alive thus far. Maybe that was also just a small part of what made her so intriguing.

 

He tugged on his restraints. No good. “Hey,” he called out. Various Desert Men and Women walked by, going about their daily lives. Bellamy could tell this landscape was harsh, but the people managed to eek out a living by what he could see. In the distance, he could see what looked to be a bustling marketplace, teeming with livestock and stands of strange-looking food and clothing. Nearby were many huts, all surrounding one large, more ornate-looking shelter in the middle; if he had to guess, Bellamy thought for sure that’s where the Commander resided, and perhaps where Clarke was being kept.

 

“Hey!” he shouted louder, and a few passersby gave him sidelong glances. He ignored how his skin smarted and his wrists chafed as he struggled, hoping to create enough commotion to call the guards.

 

And it worked. Mindless underlings were generally predictable, were they not? Two Desert Grounders soon approached, speaking to one another in their native tongue. They laughed to one another about his skin, saying it was nearly the color of _jus_ , or blood, and Bellamy realized he must look extremely sunburnt by this point.

 

“Cut him down. He will be useless tomorrow if he fries any longer,” one said, still not realizing Bellamy could understand everything.

 

The other one chuckled before switching to English. “Have you learned your lesson, _goufa_?” Bellamy bristled at the guard’s nickname, calling him a child. After all they’d been through, Bellamy didn’t think any of them could be considered kids anymore.

 

When he didn’t respond, the guard began to cut Bellamy down. He fell hard to the ground, his wrists still bound together. When the Grounder bent to pull him up, Bellamy suddenly launched himself upward. Not expecting this display of strength, the Grounder was easily caught off guard as Bellamy slammed him into the pole, his head connecting with a loud thud. The first Desert Grounder moved to intervene, his hand digging into his jacket for something, but Bellamy was already up and moving, ducking around the pole. He noticed the edge of the pulley system that had pulled him up wasn’t incredibly sharp, but it would probably do. He used it to slice away the rope, though he nicked his wrist in the process, and a small bit of blood flowed from the cut.

 

As he readied to run, a sudden _CRACK_ split the air, and Bellamy felt his a fiery blast of pain rip through his shoulder. The second Desert Grounder had removed a whip from his cloak, and its bite along with his sunburn had been excruciatingly painful. Bellamy stumbled, but he kept going. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with his fair share of pain, and he had grown strong because of it.

 

He felt the whip narrowly miss him, and he saw with lament another Desert Grounder heading towards them. Realizing that there wasn’t much he could do at this point, Bellamy grabbed the still-fallen Desert Man who had fallen after Bellamy’s body slam. He wrapped the rope around the man’s throat, and the two other guards froze, watching the coiled prisoner to see what he would do.

 

“Take me to your Commander,” Bellamy growled, “Or else say goodbye to your friend.”

 

Bellamy had known that the Grounders under Lexa’s command were true to their word, believing in an honor system and that spirits could be reincarnated based on following that code. He’d gambled that these Desert Grounders were the same way, and it seemed to have paid off. The two had acquiesced, promising him an audience, and Bellamy had let the man go, knowing he had no other options.

 

That didn’t mean they didn’t rough him up as soon as they got the chance. Though the one had stowed his whip, they had roughly dragged him here, taking some satisfaction in the fact that his skin was so burnt, and that it smarted when touched. They’d stormed past many others on the way in, and Bellamy figured that their Commander must already be receiving others from his tribe for various complaints, pleads, and favors.

 

The two Desert Men holding him threw Bellamy to his knees, holding him down in a constant kneeling position of servitude. Bellamy bristled, but he was smart enough to realize that this was the Commander. Bellamy appraised him. The man was tall, perhaps one of the taller men he’d seen since coming to Earth, and he looked completely ripped with lean muscles, as if he spent much time training. He had tattoos all over his face, and he seemed to be completely at ease sitting on his throne in front of the room. Like Lexa, he couldn’t have been that old; Bellamy would hazard a guess that this man was around his same age. His eyes were dark, like Bellamy’s as well, and he seemed intelligent, interest piqued by the scene in front of him.

 

He waited, and Bellamy’s patience finally ran thin. “Where’s Clarke? Give her back,” he ground out, voice gruff from thirst and previous struggles.

 

A brutish-looking man behind the Commander spoke in Ground tongue, thinking Bellamy couldn’t understand. “This savage attacked one of the guards. He looks strong, but he seems like trouble. We should kill him.”

 

The Commander hadn’t taken his eyes off Bellamy. He replied back in Grounder tongue, “Careful, Jago. Watch your tongue. This one understands our language.” Then, in English, “Can’t you?”

 

This man was intelligent. Bellamy tried to school his features, but he was angry that he’d let himself be so obvious. One of the few advantages he’d had was now lost, and Bellamy chose not to respond. This Commander knew, though, as if he could read Bellamy’s inner thoughts.

 

The Commander’s Second – Jago – seemed angered by this, and immediately let out a string of colorful curses. Bellamy didn’t know what some of them meant, but he could guess.

 

The Commander himself smiled at Bellamy. “We do not know who your _Clarke_ is,” he began. “But unfortunately for you, you hold no power here. You have nothing to offer, save for your life, which now belongs to my tribe regardless. And now, you have attacked two of my men; you stand here before me with a disposition that leads me to believe that you will not give up.”

 

He was right, and both of them knew it. The Commander waved his hand dismissively. “We will make an example of him, to show his people that they must submit. Take him away.”

 

Rough hands were pulling at Bellamy, and he began to lash out. He was too weak, though, from his day in the sun, and his lack of sleep and food. There were too many of them, and he was easily subdued, grunting as one of them punched him in the stomach. His mind flashed back to his capture at Mt. Weather, when Lincoln had failed him, when their plan had gone haywire, and he began to panic somewhat. _No_. This couldn’t happen again.

 

“Stop!” A clear, strong voice rang out, and everything seemed to halt at once. He knew that voice. _Clarke_.

 

Bellamy lifted his wary eyes, and in no world could he have ever predicted the sight before him. Clarke seemed to have materialized out of the shadows, a shining beacon in the darkness of the large room. Her looks always made her stand out anyway, but she looked positively otherworldly, glowing brightly in an outfit that literally left Bellamy speechless.

 

And then it left him angry. Furious, even. Why was she wearing that? Did she want everyone to see her like that? She looked clean, like a real princess, and Bellamy nearly trembled with rage.

 

But then he noticed a small tremor in her stance, saw that she perhaps wasn’t quite as comfortable as her looks made her out to be, and Bellamy followed her line of sight, straight to the Commander of this Desert Tribe. And what Bellamy saw in his gaze – interest, raw hunger, _lust_ – made him see red.

 

* * *

 

 

As Bellamy began to struggle anew, Clarke tried her best to keep up her strong stance. _What is that idiot doing?_ she thought, but secretly she was grateful that Bellamy was still fighting. Bellamy would always fight. Bellamy would always come through.

 

She couldn’t look at him. She was embarrassed by the outfit she was wearing, and also so angry that she had been so close to escaping. But she was a leader, and she couldn’t leave anyone behind – especially not _him_. She stared up at Tygon, who was appraising her with a look of pure interest, and perhaps something deeper.

 

“Well, _Heda_ ,” he drawled. “Looks like you found something more comfortable to slip into.”

 

The men around the room chuckled, and Clarke’s eyes narrowed. “Clarke,” she said, and Tygon raised his brows in question. “My name is Clarke, and you will let my people out of here.”

 

Tygon stood up from his chair, walking languidly but purposefully towards her. “Clarke,” he tested. “And why, Clarke, would I do that?”

 

He stalked closer, and Clarke fought the urge to cover herself. She could hear Bellamy’s grunts of frustration, and she could tell that he felt helpless and angry at this situation. Hell, she did as well, but they had to be strong. They couldn’t afford not to be. “Because I know you want something from me, and you won’t get anything unless you do what I ask.”

 

Tygon leaned in, close to her face. “And what if I don’t? What if I just _take_ what I want?”

 

Clarke looked him dead in the eyes. “Just _try_ ,” she challenged.

 

After a few seconds of this intense eye lock, he smirked. “I like you, _Heda_ of the _Skaikru_. Say I agree. What is it that you want?”

 

“Let all of my people go. We did nothing to ignite your hatred; you attacked us without cause.”

 

“Lexa’s tribe has long since warred with us. We did not need a reason to attack. It is you who chose such weak allies.”

 

“They’re not weak,” Clarke said, though she remembered the many times Lexa had called love and friendship weakness. “And when they come for us, because they _will_ come for us, you will regret what you’ve done.”

 

“Even so,” Tygon said, “I cannot grant that request. Your people are prisoners for now. Let’s try something smaller. What else do you want?”

 

Clarke’s eyes finally alit on Bellamy, and as they made eye contact, Tygon chuckled. He began to circle her. “Ah. I see. You are lovers.”

 

Clarke knew that she couldn’t let Tygon know that she and Bellamy were close; he had to believe that Bellamy was just one of her people, that he was not special in any way, shape, or form, that their partnership as leaders and lately as friends and companions meant nothing.

 

“He means nothing to me,” she stated coldly, and Bellamy inwardly flinched, the words cutting deeper than he’d thought would be possible. “He is merely under my command, and you have no right to hurt him.”

 

Tygon didn’t look completely convinced, but her delivery had been callous, and it was enough to make him back off. “Then what do you propose we do with him? We do not allow prisoners to attack guards here, _Heda_.”

 

“Give him to me. I will talk to him, and it will not be a problem again. As I understand from what I’ve heard, none of my people were even outside to witness his acts of defiance. We will discuss further the terms of what happens to my people.”

 

“We will,” he murmured before he nodded to his guards, barking at them to take Bellamy to Clarke’s chambers. “You have one hour.”

 

Clarke winced as they dragged Bellamy off, seeing the hurt and betrayal written all over his face. She’d explain to him why she had to say that, even though they only had one hour. They’d have to think fast to come up with a plan to escape, but if anyone could do it, it’d be the two of them.

 

As she moved to follow, a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm. Tygon leaned down, his lips nearly touching the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Don’t think this is over, Clarke. We _will_ discuss further, and you will recall that you now owe me what I want.”

 

He let her go, stepping back towards his throne, and Clarke tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry. She’d meant to ask what he wanted in return, but really, it was apparent in the way he looked at her, and Clarke just hoped she and Bellamy could come up with a plan before it was too late.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Clarke followed more Desert Grounders back to the room she’d been held in, knowing they’d just led Bellamy this way. Her fists were still clenched from the confrontation back in Tygon’s meeting chamber, and she took deep breaths, knowing that she needed her head on straight to work quickly and plan with Bellamy.

 

Once she arrived in the room, she noticed that they’d flung Bellamy to the spot where she’d first woken up, fastening ropes around his wrists and tying him to the wall. “We won’t be needing that,” she said, but was ignored. “Hey!”

 

They turned to look at her, weary of this strange new girl. “I said, we won’t be needing that. Untie him.”

 

After a tense moment, Bellamy was cut free, and he rubbed at his wrists angrily. The Desert Men didn’t acknowledge either him or Clarke as they walked out, but Clarke knew they’d be waiting outside the door. As soon as the lock clicked in, she rushed over to Bellamy.

 

She was shocked seconds later when he pushed her away, glaring vehemently. “Don’t touch me, _Princess_ ,” he spat. Clarke took a step back, surprised by his fury as well as how much it hurt.

 

“Bellamy, you’re hurt – “

 

“And you’re dressed in some fancy get-up, living the high-life in the luxury suite while the rest of our people are caged in some pen like livestock.”

 

Now Clarke was getting mad as well. She knew Bellamy had been through the ringer, over and over and over again, and today was no different, but this was totally unfair. “I know that.”

 

“Sure doesn’t seem like that when you’re busy playing house with your new boy toy.”

 

“Do you think I _asked_ for this?!” she shouted, nearly hysterical. Bellamy’s eyes widened. Clarke _never_ lost her composure. “You think I wanted to be stuck in this stupid, disgusting outfit? I was trying to escape when they dragged you in.”

 

Bellamy remained quiet. He knew Clarke hadn’t liked the way she was dressed by her body language, and he could tell that she held nothing but scorn for the people who held them here. But he still saw her face in his mind, telling him it was worth the risk to go into Mt. Weather, knowing fully well what those people did to their captives. And it stung. It stung badly.

 

“I’m going to put a stop to this, Bellamy, but I need your help.” She wrapped her arms around herself, showing how self-conscious she was about her current appearance. “I can’t do this without you.”

 

“I thought I meant nothing to you. Just merely under your command, _Heda_ ,” he ended, mockingly.

 

“You know I didn’t mean that. Think for just one minute. If he knew what you meant to me, don’t you think he’d use that against me? You’ve spoken with him. Their Commander is smart, and we can’t give him even more ammo when we’re already at such a disadvantage.”

 

_If he knew what you meant to me_ … Bellamy wanted to ask her what he did mean to her, but this was neither the time nor the place. Clarke was smart, and what she was saying made sense; he’d known this at the time, but he was still feeling the trauma of the Mt. Weather escape. Yeah, that must be it. The comment had hurt, but he now saw the sense in it.

 

Bellamy sighed. “I’m sorry, all right? I just… I saw you, dressed like that, being kept in a room like this. When I woke up, everyone was trapped in this pen, and they tried to grab Octavia…”

 

“I know.” Clarke came closer, putting a hand on his forearm. Her hand was cool, and it soothed his burnt skin. “We’re going to figure this out. But we need to come up with a plan.”

 

He nodded. Clarke gave him a small smile in return, and she looked down at where her hand met his arm. She noticed his bleeding hand. “You’re hurt.”

 

“I’m fine,” he murmured. “We should get to planning.”

 

“And we will, but come over here and let me have a look at you.”

 

Clarke led him over to the luxurious-looking bed in the center of the room, and Bellamy noted that in another time, another place, this might have been a very different situation. As such, his skin was uncomfortable and smarting, and the spot that had been lashed still burned with pain.

 

She guided him onto the bed before shuffling through the woven baskets that she had seen Hava digging through earlier. There were no bandages, but there were pretty little ribbons, most likely used to braid into hair. Clarke grimaced; they could try to get her to play dress up as much as they liked, but she wasn’t having it. She grabbed the ribbons, as well as what looked to be a jar of lotion.

 

Bellamy sat on the bed, watching her. She looked almost like a different person now that she was clean. He remembered when he had returned to Camp Jaha to bring back an injured Monroe and the girl they’d rescued from Factory Station, and all he’d seen was a blond blur before small arms had wrapped around him in a warm embrace. It’d taken him a second to realize it was Clarke, that she was okay, that she was alive, before he’d hugged her back. When she’d pulled away, her face had been completely cut up, like she’d gone through the ringer. She’d looked more like herself then than she did now.

 

Not that Bellamy was complaining. If anything, the male part of him could appreciate the situation even when his mind knew just how dire it was. Here was a curvy and very beautiful young woman, scantily clad and very clean, amidst the grime and dirt that constantly surrounded them. The tiara on her head held back her hair, framing her pretty face, and her outfit accentuated her curves and made her skin nearly glow. The blue of her eyes stood out, a stark contrast to everyone around them, and Bellamy knew exactly why the Desert Tribe Commander had looked at her the way he did.

 

She made her way back to the bed, kneeling down next to him while he sat with his knees over the side. She dabbed one of the ribbons in the lotion, using it to soothe the cut on his hand. Bellamy breathed out loudly through his nose, the feeling a relief after the guards’ brutal treatment earlier. He stared at her as she worked.

 

“How many people have they captured?” Clarke asked, ignoring his stare.

 

“At least 100. Clarke, they mostly have Grounders, but they have a lot of our people too. I was with Octavia and Nyko when I woke up. Lexa must have gotten away, though, and I didn’t see Indra or Lincoln there either.”

 

“My mom? Kane?”

 

Bellamy shook his head. “Not sure. I had only just woken up before, well – “

 

“Before you pulled a Bellamy and did whatever the Hell you wanted,” Clarke finished ruefully, and she looked up at him.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“We need to figure out exactly how many of our people are here, and how we can scope out this camp.”

 

“I think I can take care of that first part,” he replied, gears turning. “It sounds like they want to use some of us for labor, so maybe that will help with the second.”

 

Clarke nodded. “I made a… Well, a friend, I guess.” She thought of Hava. “She’s loyal to Tygon, but I think I can get some information out of her. Regardless, I know that Lexa will come for us.”

 

Bellamy didn’t exactly feel the same way. “How can you be so sure?”

 

“Bellamy, c’mon. Her people were captured too, and her motto is basically ‘blood demands blood.’ Plus, you don’t know her like I do. She’ll take this as a personal affront, and if my mom hasn’t been captured, then you know that she’ll be spurring them forward as well.”

 

“In the meantime, I think we need another game plan. We should try to send a runner, pool our resources into helping one person escape to relay to our people back home what’s going on.”

 

Clarke thought this was a smart idea, and she knew exactly who he had in mind. “You want to send Octavia.”

 

Bellamy let out a half-smirk. Clarke always seemed to know what he was thinking. His little sister was lithe and fast, and she would stop at nothing to relay their message. Plus, he was sure that Lincoln would already be coming for her, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Indra was as well. Ever since Octavia had become her Second, the two had been nearly inseparable.

 

Those things, and the fact that Bellamy wanted his little sister out of this mess as soon as possible.

 

“I can try to formulate some kind of distraction. We get everyone in on it, and I think we’ll be able to get her out.”

 

“Not everyone can know. It’ll cause panic, and everyone will want to leave,” Clarke warned.

 

“Trust me, Princess. When it comes to inspiring the masses, I think I’ve learned a thing or two from our time on Earth.” She rolled her eyes at his response, but he saw the humor dancing in their blue depths.

 

Clarke wrapped a clean ribbon around the cut on his hand, covering it and tying it off. She stood up, inspecting the rest of his body. Her hands ghosted over his skin, and he nearly shivered at the light touch. They paused near his shoulder blade when he winced, and she was suddenly urging the shirt from his head. Her fingers lightly traced the spot where the whip had struck him. “They lashed you,” she said, voice dead.

 

Bellamy looked up at her. She looked upset, and he knew she was blaming herself for this. “Clarke, this isn’t your fault.”

 

“You did this to try and find me.”

 

“It would have happened anyway. It was only a matter of time.”

 

Clarke swallowed. He was right, of course, but she hated seeing people she cared about in pain, and she felt like that was all that had happened in the last two years. First her father, then Wells… From there, it seemed like everyone she loved was constantly at risk, though she knew that this was life on Earth.

 

She grabbed a handful of lotion and began to gently rub it on his shoulder blade. Bellamy closed his eyes. It felt so good, her tender fingers soothing his burnt skin and sore muscles, and the lotion really helped. He moaned.

 

Clarke’s hand stopped and he suddenly realized the noise that had escaped his mouth. Another man might have been embarrassed, but Bellamy merely remarked, “Don’t stop, Princess.”

 

Her hand continued, and she moved from one shoulder blade to the other. Her hands cooled his skin, and he felt himself leaning into her touch. She swept around his neck before moving onto the plane of his back. His muscles rippled under her touch, and Clarke found herself fascinated by the effect this seemed to be having on him. She’d almost never seen Bellamy so relaxed, despite the angry red tinge of his skin and what he’d recently been through.

 

After she finished with his back, she shifted her position so that she was kneeling on her knees next to him, and she immediately dipped her hand into the jar of lotion before beginning on his arms. He sighed in relief, eyes closed.

 

Clarke was enthralled by the calming effect this seemed to have on Bellamy. In all her time with him, she couldn’t remember him ever letting his walls down so completely. Sure, they’d had an intimate fireside chat once, just before they’d found Finn too late, but for all their talks and planning, she couldn’t remember a time when she’d sat with Bellamy in silence; she couldn’t remember a time when she’d touched him like this, and it was addictive.

 

She lightly pushed on the front of his shoulder, easing him to the bed. His eyes shot open, but he did as she bade, wondering what she was doing. She dunked her hand back into the lotion jar, and she hovered over him before her hand came down on the front of his shoulder, spreading the lotion. Her fingers splayed over his heart, and she could feel its strong beat. She continued, her hands tracing over his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles flex under her touch, until moving lower. His abs tensed when she touched his stomach, and Clarke found that she couldn’t look away from his eyes, which were open and watching her. Bellamy breathed out a heavy breath, just as affected as she.

 

Clarke knew she need to put lotion on his face, which was really sunburnt, and she adjusted her position, straddling him so that she could dip the other hand into the lotion. With that hand, her thumb swept up his jaw line, over the dusting of freckles on his cheeks. Bellamy never broke eye contact. One of his hands had strayed to her lower back, steadying her as she worked her magic. Her other hand stopped its path on his abs near his pant-line, as she leaned forward –

 

The door suddenly banged open, startling both Clarke and Bellamy. It was Jago, backed by three other Desert Men. _Shit_ , Clarke thought. Had it been an hour already? “Time’s up,” he rumbled, and his leer sent shivers up her spine. Clarke just hoped that she and Bellamy could pull this off; everyone was depending on them.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 

Two of the guards had immediately grabbed Bellamy, hauling him to his feet. Jago hadn’t stopped leering at Clarke, and Bellamy could feel his anger rising fast. A light grip laid on his arm, and he looked to see Clarke, her eyes urging him to remain calm. The last thing they needed was another display of insolence from him; he had a job to do, and they had to get Octavia out of here so she could get a message to Lexa and the others. Her hand on his arm had a calming effect, and just as the lotion had relieved his skin, her touch seemed to soothe his temper, and he breathed heavily through his nose in an attempt to calm down.

 

Which became much more difficult one second later when her hand suddenly shot away from him. He followed her gaze to the door, where Tygon stood, looking completely at ease and completely in control all in one. He seemed to have removed his outermost layer, leaving him in a tight shirt. He seemed focused on Clarke, but he did spare Bellamy a glance, noting how close the two stood to each other and how Bellamy’s shirt was now on the ground. Tygon gave one nod to Jago, and suddenly Bellamy was being hauled away, shirt in the hands of one of the Desert Men, until he was led into the hallway. He managed to catch one last glance of Clarke before he was gone, and he could see her wary stance as she watched Tygon glide into the room.

 

Bellamy noticed that the door wasn’t shut all the way, but the second Clarke was out of eyesight, he felt a blow to his stomach. He doubled over and choked out a breath, but before he could say or do anything else, a gag was being stuffed in his mouth, and his hands bound behind his back. He was slammed down to his knees with enough force to bruise, and he looked up with hatred in his eyes at Jago. This man was sadistic. He grinned gleefully down at his helpless victim, leaning close so his face was right in front of Bellamy’s.

 

“She says you mean nothing to her, but Tygon thinks otherwise.” Jago’s eyes narrowed, and he continued quietly, “So we’re gonna have a little listen here to see how your _Heda_ bows down to us. And bends over. By the time Tygon is done with her – “

 

But he didn’t have a chance to continue as Bellamy slammed his head forward, smashing into Jago’s face. Jago reared back, blood flowing from his nose, as Bellamy felt a headache split through his skull. He had never learned about proper headbutting, but couldn’t take the man’s insinuations about Clarke any longer. Jago grabbed Bellamy by the jaw, slamming him against the wall to the room, near the cracked door.

 

“You’re a _gona_ , all right,” Jago spit, holding Bellamy’s head against the wall near the door. Bellamy grunted, but it was muffled by the gag. “But even a warrior can’t stop what will happen.”

 

And inside the room, as Tygon began to talk, Bellamy realized that these Desert Grounders wanted him to hear everything. And he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep up this façade depending on what happened, but all he could do was listen and wait, and hope.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s heart beat quickly as Bellamy was dragged from the room. She heard the sounds of a scuffle outside, and a _thump_ , but there was no time to investigate since Tygon was approaching her and Clarke knew she had to be on her game if she wanted to come away from this situation safely.

 

“Are you enjoying your room?”

 

“You mean my prison.”

 

“Most wouldn’t call a chamber so magnificent a prison.”

 

“A gilded cage, then.”

 

He chose to ignore the comment. “So you’re a _fisa_ , then? A healer?” he asked, walking languidly around the room.

 

Clarke wished she’d had the foresight to look for another top, or even a shawl, to cover herself, but when she’d been tending to Bellamy, her outfit hadn’t even crossed her mind. Sure, she didn’t want to be half-naked in front of anyone, but she’d felt safe enough in his presence to forget about her state of dress for just a little while. And before they’d been interrupted, putting on more clothes had been the last thing on her mind.

 

She wondered if being a healer would help her case, or hurt it. Perhaps if he knew how useful she was, he wouldn’t be so intent on his predatory ways. “Yes,” she replied, watching him warily.

 

He looked fascinated, like she was some sort of puzzle he could solve if he stared at her long enough. “You continue to intrigue me, _Heda_.”

 

“Don’t call me that.” She didn’t like the use of the nickname; it was too close to _Princess_ , and the last thing she wanted was to associate Tygon with any of her people.

 

“ _Fisa_ , then.” Calling her healer didn’t seem much better, as it was still a nickname.

 

“My name is Clarke.”

 

“Clarke.” He rolled her name around in his mouth. It sounded strange with his accent.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Yes, let’s get to the point, shall we? I let you have time with your warrior, and now you owe me something in return.”

 

She waited, and he chuckled somewhat at her steadfastness in her refusal to give in to him. She was a spitfire, this one.

 

“You are a strong woman, but your weakness is your care for your people.”

 

“Every good leader cares for her people.”

 

“Yes, but every leader does not _love_ his or her people, as you seem to.” Clarke could tell he still didn’t believe her about Bellamy being a nobody, but he seemed to delight in the fact that she wouldn’t give in. “I believe you will do anything you can to save them. You have a big heart, and that can be exploited.”

 

Clarke was uncomfortable with how similar this conversation was to ones she’d had with Lexa; she’d been in a vulnerable place after Finn’s death, and she had been swayed to think that love was weakness, and that she had to erect barriers around her. But that wasn’t who she was, and even when she tried her best, those walls came tumbling down every time. But she couldn’t let that show. This Tygon was smart, and he was dangerous.

 

“You still haven’t told me what it is that you want.”

 

“Well, I must admit that what first drew me to you was your appearance,” he said, drawing closer to her. She willed herself to stand completely still, and he drew up behind her, his hand brushing past her waist. “You were like some kind of sun goddess, ready for the taking, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you immediately in my bed.”

 

Clarke’s stomach flipped. She’d known this by the way he’d appraised her from the very start, but hearing him verbalize it made her feel extremely exposed.

 

“But then after… _questioning_ several of our other prisoners, I heard rumors of the Sky People, led by a woman whose description perfectly matched yours,” he continued, his hand picking up a strand of her hair. “And I knew you would have the information I needed on that bitch Lexa.”

 

He wanted information on the _Trigedakru_ – the Woods Clan led by Lexa. Part of Clarke was relieved, but she knew she couldn’t give him anything that would hurt their allies; Lexa’s tribe was entangled in the Arkers’ lives, now. The successful attack on Mt. Weather had insured that alliance. “You want intel.”

 

“Yes, that was the point of your being brought here. But then, you woke up, and you were so… _defiant_. It was arousing. I can’t remember the last time someone stood up to me, or even Jago, that way. Then you escaped! I had this door guarded and everything, but still, I truly believe you might have made it out had you not stopped to save your warrior.”

 

Clarke swallowed hard. His pointing that out was like rubbing salt into a wound. He noticed, but he continued on, his voice growing stronger. “And after seeing your fiery spirit, I realized that there was only one thing I wanted.” She stared at him, and his hand left her hair to grip her chin. “To tame it.”

 

He bent forward, crushing his lips to hers, and Clarke was instantly transformed into a wildcat, arms pushing at him. He was too strong, though, and he easily fended off her hands, so she did the only thing she could think of. She bit him, _hard_.

 

He growled, shoving her backwards onto the bed. She scrambled away from him as he wiped his bloody lip. He chuckled when he saw the blood come away on his hand. “As I’d guess, it is not easy to tame a wildcat.”

 

“So this is your endgame? To rape me?”

 

He had the decency to look affronted. “I would never do such a thing. No woman has ever come to my bed unwilling, and I won’t start here.” He grinned at her, a harsh, feral thing. “You will come of your own volition.”

 

Clarke spat at him. He grabbed her ankle, yanking him towards her until they were face-to-face. “You will, because you will see how futile it is to fight, and you are smart. You will come to see reason, and if only to bargain for your people’s lives, you’ll begin to warm to me and your life here.”

 

“Do you think I’ll just give up? That I won’t fight you every second of the way?”

 

“Oh no, Clarke. I expect it. I welcome it. It’s the hunt that I enjoy the most.”

 

He let her go, standing up. “You will dine with me this evening. Hava will return to dress you accordingly. There, we will discuss what I want to know about the _Trigedakru_. If your answers are not satisfactory, your Sky People will be punished.”

 

“You’re a monster.”

 

“I am what I was born to be. I’m a leader. You could learn a thing or two from me. And I am sure that when our business has concluded, you will see the opportunity that has been placed before you is the smart choice. I am still looking for a mate, as it turns out.” He grinned at her again, and she glared at him with everything she had. “Let’s just say that no one has been able to hold my interest. Until now, that is.”

 

“That will _never_ happen.”

 

“I suppose we will find out, won’t we? I shall see you in a few hours, _Fisa_.”

 

* * *

 

 

Outside the door, Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut to try to remain calm. He hadn’t been able to see what was happening, but he could hear the tremor in Clarke’s voice, and he’d heard the conversation. He had to get her out of here. He had to get everyone out of here. He’d done it once before, when the stakes had been just as high, but something about Clarke being uniquely targeted was messing with his head.

 

Tygon stepped from the room, closing the door fully, before Jago finally pulled Bellamy’s head away from the wall. Tygon looked down, nodding at one of the men to ungag Bellamy. Bellamy worked his aching jaw muscles, willing himself to not fly off the handle. They had to pull this off. He had to pretend that he and Clarke had a strictly business relationship, or that they barely knew one another.

 

“So have you learned your lesson, _gona_?” Tygon asked. Bellamy didn’t respond, but he looked up at the tattooed man from under his lashes.

 

Tygon looked satisfied with Bellamy’s docility. He turned to Jago. “Perhaps I was wrong. A real lover would have attacked me the second we ungagged him. This one seems to care nothing for the girl’s wellbeing.”

 

It cut Bellamy, but this was what they’d wanted the Desert Grounders to think. This was for the best. Jago yanked Bellamy up to his feet. “Return him to his confines,” Tygon waved dismissively before turning down the hallway.

 

As soon as Tygon was gone, one of the Desert Grounders made to walk Bellamy back to the pen with the rest of their people, but he was halted by Jago. “Let’s rough him up a bit first, teach him a lesson,” the Second rumbled.

 

One of the guards spoke up. “The _Heda_ said to return him to the pen.”

 

Jago stared for only a second before decking the guard in the face. The man crumpled to the ground. Jago turned to the other Desert Grounder holding Bellamy. “What our Commander doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Let’s go.”

 

And as Bellamy felt himself being dragged away, following Jago, he knew that it was going to be a rough evening. He just had to survive so he could get Octavia out, and then they’d have a fighting chance.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

Hava had joined Clarke in her chambers as soon as Tygon was gone. Clarke could tell the girl was clearly now wary of her, and she regretted that, but had no second thoughts about the escape attempt. And should the matter rise again, Clarke would do the same thing in a heartbeat. She had to get out of here, not only to save herself, but to help her friends.

 

Hava had brought a long, shimmery white dress, and Clarke wondered if Tygon had a thing for white. Perhaps he thought it made her look virginal, which inwardly made Clarke both grimace and smirk. If he wanted some subdued, delicate thing, he had another thing coming to him. Clarke Griffin was no fragile little girl.

 

When Hava had held it up for Clarke to see, the Ark Princess hadn’t known whether to laugh or to cry. “No way am I wearing that.”

 

“But _Heda_ – “

 

“It’s Clarke, Hava. You can call me by my name.”

 

“Well, um, Clarke,” the girl stammered out, “This is what the Commander has bade you to wear. His orders were that you would wear this to dine with him, and I was told to tell you, ‘if you can’t do this one thing for him, how can he help you in return?’”

 

Hava clearly had no idea what was at stake here, or else she wouldn’t have been so confused or so fine with the situation, or so Clarke chose to believe. This was infuriating, though. She was forced to objectify herself, and whenever she refused, he’d dangle her people’s safety in front of her like some sort of bargaining chip? It made her sick. At least with the Mountain Men, it’d been obvious they were at war. Here, Tygon seemed content to watch her dance, hoping that he’d give in to some of her requests but knowing he held all the power at the moment. But he had let her have an hour with Bellamy, after all.

 

And speaking of Bellamy, Clarke hoped he was all right. They’d been rough when dragging him out, and she’d heard some sort of scuffle outsider her door, but there hadn’t been time to look into it when Tygon had basically forced himself upon her.

 

She guessed that wasn’t really fair. At least he’d just stopped at stealing a kiss and nothing more. He claimed that he wouldn’t do anything else unless it was consensual, but Clarke didn’t want to push it too much; after all, she had to quickly think of things to tell him that wouldn’t directly endanger Lexa’s tribe, and she needed to see about the conditions of all the prisoners here. Bellamy had mentioned a pen that everyone was being kept in, and after seeing his state, she worried for the rest of them. Sure, Bellamy was probably the most rash of anyone, especially when his little sister was being threatened, but she knew that others, like Miller or Monty or Raven, also had a knack for trouble. _Especially_ Raven. Clarke knew if the mechanic were here, she’d be the first one to break the rules. But Hell, maybe that was exactly what they needed.

 

Clarke shook the thoughts away as Hava approached her, dress in hand. “I can do it myself,” she told the girl.

 

If Hava was offended, she didn’t show it, and instead respectfully backed off. “Do you mind?” Clarke asked as Hava stared at her.

 

“Mind what?”

 

“Could you turn around?”

 

Hava seemed confused, but she did as she was asked. Clarke shook her head ruefully. Of course Hava had already undressed and redressed her, and it made sense that Grounders really didn’t care much about nakedness; they were wild and uninhibited having grown up in drastic settings, and they weren’t prudish with their actions. Clarke mostly knew this from Octavia, who had picked up many of their customs and had also shared many stories about her tryst with Lincoln, including the times they’d first starting rendezvousing.

 

Clarke peeled off her pants, and when she did, she realized that the comb was still in the pocket. She took it out, knowing that she could make use of this later; it doubled as both a lock-pick and a weapon, so it was wise to keep it with her. Next came the strange halter top, but Clarke was unhappy to say that there was no bra under that, as the top was basically a bra itself.   

 

“Hava, is there a bra for this dress?” The girl started to turn around, and Clarke quickly used the dress to cover herself. “Wait wait, don’t turn around!”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like… Something to help… Keep everything in place,” Clarke finished lamely.

 

“You need some extra support?”

 

“Um, yes.”

 

“The dress should provide enough support. Please let me know if that is not the case.”

 

Clarke inwardly sighed. Great. She slid her current top off and stood in just her panties, looking at the dress. _Well, here goes nothing_ , she thought, slipping it over her head.

 

The dress was beautiful. It was also extremely scant and form-fitting. It was long and flowed down to her feet, but two long slits ran up either side to her thighs. It was supportive, Clarke found, but only in that it was extremely tight around her breasts and held them in place quite well. The dress was low-cut, and it had cut-outs on the side of her ribs. Even wearing the material, she felt completely naked, perhaps even more so than in the other outfit. And it shimmered, drawing the eye straight towards her.

 

Clarke wondered where she could slip the comb, though. There were no pockets in the dress, and it clung to her every curve. Maybe she could put it in her hair? She reached up to try it and realized she still had the tiara in. She quickly stashed the comb under the covers of the bed so she could involve Hava.

 

“Um, Hava, could you help me get this off?”

 

Hava practically bounced over to Clarke. “Clarke, you look amazing.”

 

Clarke shifted uncomfortably. “Any way we could get this tiara off?”

 

Hava helped her dislodge the tiara. “How would you like to wear your hair?”

 

Clarke suddenly had an idea. “Any way we could pin it up?”

 

When Hava nodded, Clarke gave a small smile. If she couldn’t have the comb, at least she could use the pins. Tygon wouldn’t know what hit him.

 

* * *

 

 

Octavia had been waiting all day for Bellamy, and it was practically nightfall at this point. Wherever the guards had dragged him, she hoped he was okay. He’d only been trying to help her, after all. And this was just how it was. The men in her life constantly putting themselves in danger to help her, to save her.

 

She’s grown up a lot since landing on Earth; things that used to matter seemed so trivial now. Under Indra’s tutelage, she’d become a warrior, but she still wasn’t strong enough. She’d still been captured, and being confined in this pen brought back bad memories of her time spending hiding and living under the floor. At least it was a little more spacious here. At least there was other people.

 

But there was no Bellamy, now. And there was no Lincoln. Octavia swallowed hard. Lincoln had been so distant since he’d returned. She’d told him that he could get himself together, and help them defeat the Mountain Men, or he could crawl off and die – it was his choice. He’d chosen to stay and to help, but he seemed convinced that he couldn’t kick the habit of the drug they’d injected into his system over and over. It was like he didn’t think he deserved to get better. As soon as she got back, Octavia vowed to put a stop to that attitude. Lincoln would recover, and together, they could make it through anything that came their way. Now she just had to get out of here.

 

A sudden commotion on the side of the pen had people scrambling to and fro, and Octavia found herself pushing through the mass to see what was going on. “Careful,” a voice next to her said, and she saw Nyko following her. He’d been looking out for her a lot lately, and while part of her was miffed that he was acting like she was some untrained little girl, another part of her was grateful for his friendship and support.

 

“I’m all right. Just trying to see what’s going on.”

 

And as she edged closer, Octavia realized that the Desert Grounders had returned, and they’d dropped something into the pen. A body.

 

But not just any body. It was Bellamy, and he was incredibly beat up.

 

“Bellamy!” she cried, pushing through more people until she reached him. She looked to see if they were being watched, but the guards had dumped him and returned to their posts, clearly over whatever had happened.

 

She assessed his injuries. He was pretty sunburnt, which Octavia was sure was painful, and his hand was bandaged with a pretty ribbon. There was a mark on his shoulder, as if he had been hit extremely hard with something, and his nose was bloody, like he’d been punched in the face.

 

“Bellamy. Are you okay?” Octavia shook him a little, and he groaned.

 

Nyko joined them, and he looked over his injuries. He reached out, putting a hand on Bellamy’s good shoulder. “Lotion?”

 

“That was Clarke. Lathered me up real good,” Bellamy groaned, sitting up. He was pleased to see that Octavia looked unharmed, and that Nyko was doing a good job of sticking with her.

 

Octavia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d long suspected something was up with Bellamy and Clarke, but they’d been somewhat estranged since the attack on Mt. Weather.  She wanted to ask about the lathering of lotion, because that just sounded insane, but she knew what the real question to be asked was here. “You saw Clarke?”

 

Bellamy sat up, explaining to them what he’d seen, and Octavia felt herself growing more nervous. When the guards had grabbed her, she hadn’t been afraid; she’d just fight her way out of it. But Clarke’s situation sounded pretty bad, what with how that Commander had looked at and treated her. The clothes sounded absolutely absurd.

 

“ _Clarke_ was wearing that? Clarke-who-wouldn’t-take-her-pants-off-to-go-into-the-water Clarke?”

 

“It’s not like she had a choice, O. I couldn’t believe it either, but you didn’t see how this guy was acting. And apparently he’s pissed they didn’t capture Lexa.”

 

“Our _Heda_ won’t be so easily detained,” Nyko said. “But she will repay this tribe for what they have tried to do.”

 

“What _are_ they trying to do?” Octavia asked.

 

“Most likely they will make the majority of the prisoners work as labors. It is a hard life out here in the Dead Zone. They might try to trade some of us with the other nations.”

 

This was despicable. “Like slavery? They’ll just auction of us off to the highest bidder?”

 

Nyko looked serious. “Our Commander does not condone such things, but the other tribes are different. Several are led by upstanding _Hedas_ , but others are not.” He turned to Bellamy, whose eyebrows had drawn together in concentration. “You met Tygon, who is young, but said to be an extremely capable and fearsome warrior. He has long been at war with Lexa. It is said that he helped another nation capture her lover, and that the reconciliation between the two tribes is impossible.”

 

Bellamy nodded. “Well, he has Clarke now, and from what it sounds like, he isn’t planning on stopping until he gets what he wants.”

 

“We have to stop him,” Octavia stated.

 

“We will. Clarke and I came up with a plan. Nyko, we’re gonna need to take a roster of everyone capable we have here in this pen. Everyone’s gonna have to fight for this to work. We also need to be mapping out any areas we see if we’re ever let out of this pen. We’ll only inform a select group about the recon.”

 

Octavia bent down close to him. Always had people underestimated her, over and over. She wanted to help. She _would_ help. “Bell, use me. I want to help.”

 

Bellamy smiled at her – a rare, adorable thing that he saved for his little sister when she did something that either amused him or made him proud. “O, you’re the key player in this whole thing.”

 

She tilted her head in question, and he put a big hand on her shoulder before continuing. “We’re gonna break you out. You’re about to be our messenger.”

 

* * *

 

Jago leered as the struggling girl was brought in. She was one of latest bunch of prisoners, from Lexa’s camp, and she didn’t seem to speak their language, so Jago had to assume she was one of these Sky People.

 

How curious, that the Sky People seemed to be led and inspired by those so young. First their beautiful, exotic _Heda_ , then the young warrior who had fought the guards, and now… This delightful morsel. First, the girl had broken out of the pen they’d kept her in, _twice_ , and she’d somehow managed to assemble a weapon from random scrap metal that had taken down two guards before they’d apprehended her.

 

“She made it out of the pen, past the market, and into a hut near the main keep. She’d nearly stumbled onto – ,” one of the guards holding the girl began, but Jago hissed, effectively cutting him off.

 

“Hold your tongue if you wish to keep it. She saw nothing, so we will contain this breach. Now, how to deal with you?” Jago wondered, his hand straying near her face.

 

The girl let out a string of colorful curses, and Jago couldn’t help but smile. She was a pretty little thing, though she seemed lethal in her resourcefulness. “Put her in my chambers,” he spoke in his native tongue to the guards, who led the girl, kicking and screaming, from the room.

  
Jago would deal with her later.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 

When Hava had finished with Clarke’s hair, the blonde could barely recognize herself. She’d always kept her hair down, or at most put it up into a messy ponytail, but here it was, pinned up and off her neck, leaving her neck completely bare. A few loose tendrils fell out around her face, but Hava told her that it was good, that it framed her visage nicely and fit more with her personality. And though Clarke didn’t care much about how she looked, instead only caring that she had at least 5 good, decently pointed pins in her hair to use as weapons or lock picks, she was grateful for Hava’s assistance.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Clarke told the girl, who beamed. “Thank you.”

 

“You are the one who is beautiful, _Heda_. And your hair – it’s just so lovely.”

 

After that, Hava had tried her best to put make-up on Clarke’s face, but this was where Clarke put her foot down. The last thing she needed was some charcoal running into her eyes if she got a chance to run, and besides, there was no need to further encourage Tygon.

 

Finally Hava seemed satisfied, and she led Clarke to the door, where she knocked and a guard opened up, ready to guide her to dinner. The Desert Grounder nodded at Hava before grabbing Clarke’s elbow. “Wait!”

 

He let go of her for a second, and part of Clarke wanted to flee, to sprint away as fast as she could, but she knew she wouldn’t get far; she didn’t know where to go, and she was wearing an outfit so impractical for escape that it was nearly laughable.

 

Instead, Clarke turned to Hava. “Hava, can you be here later?” The girl looked confused, and Clarke grasped for a reason. “In case I need help undressing or getting my hair down?”

 

“Oh, yes, of course, _Heda_! I will be here when you return.”

 

Clarke exhaled a small relieved breath. It wasn’t that she needed Hava for anything of the sort, but rather, she wanted to be sure that if Tygon did try anything untoward, Hava would be in her chambers. Clarke believed him when he said he wouldn’t force himself upon her, but she also knew that he was wily, and if the drugged water had taught her anything from the very beginning of this ordeal, it was that nothing here was as it seemed.

 

“Great, thank you. And it’s just Clarke, not _Heda_.”

 

Hava smiled shyly. “Of course. Clarke.”

 

With that, the Desert Guard had looped a large hand around her elbow once again, and accompanied by one other Desert Grounder, he led her through a series of hallways and out the door. As they walked through the encampment, Clarke tried to count her steps and commit everything to memory. There was another huge hut close by, and what looked to be some sort of trade market further in the distance. She heard horses whinnying, and tried to figure out what direction the noises were coming from. Clarke wasn’t sure if Octavia knew how to ride a horse, but they’d surely need to try to get her on one if she hoped to get away.

 

She looked up at the night sky only briefly, but it was a relief to be out in the open. Sure, she’d only been in that room for a short time, but she felt so entrapped. Clarke thought it was ironic that the only time in her life she’d really been _free_ had been when the 100 had first landed on the ground. Looking back on it, sure she’d been extremely stressed out, what with trying to figure out how to survive and how to contact the Ark, plus dealing with Bellamy’s idiocy and the bullies who followed him, but she hadn’t been confined, or told what to do. On the Ark, in Mt. Weather… Even in Camp Jaha, there were constant restrictions and limitations. She had almost missed the time when it had just been the 100.

 

And now she was trapped again. Only this time, she didn’t have 47 other people with her, or a bossy mother who loved her very much in her own way. Now, she was alone. It seemed hopeless, but her talk with Bellamy earlier had infused a sort of adrenalin into her that kept her going. Clarke wasn’t the type to give up, but knowing that she had back-up helped. Together, they’d find a way to set everyone free.

 

She was roused from her thoughts when they entered another hut, and Clarke was ushered in. Once inside, Clarke noticed immediately that it smelled nice in here, and she saw candles burning and knew those must be the source of the aroma. Everything was candlelit, and a long table sat at the center of the room. Tygon was already seated at the head of one end.

 

His eyes drank her in as she walked closer, and Clarke wanted to punch that smirk right off his face. Instead, she took the seat offered to her at the other end of the table, grateful that he was seated as far from her as he could be, given the circumstances.

 

“ _Fisa_ ,” he nearly purred. “You look radiant.”  

 

Clarke ignored him, looking at what the table had to offer. In front of her was a platter with some kind of cooked meat on it, but Clarke didn’t know what. There was also a glass of a red liquid, though she couldn’t say what that was either.

 

“May I have some water?”

 

He smiled at her, knowing that she didn’t trust him. Clarke was instantly annoyed. She was sure he was used to getting his way, with that dazzling grin. Even she couldn’t deny how attractive he was. Tall, with dark hair and dark eyes, and strong in both mind and body… Of course, this got her to thinking about another with those same attributes, and Clarke quickly shook the thoughts away as he answered.

 

“I have had my people bring up the finest of our wine. You should give it a try before you turn to water.”

 

_Wine_? Lexa had spoken of it. On the Ark, they drank liquor – whiskey, vodka, anything that could be easily distilled. On the ground, Monty had made moonshine, and while it hadn’t tasted great, it had done the trick. Clarke had heard of this wine, and she knew it was alcoholic, and that alone made her resolve not to drink it. She couldn’t be fuzzyheaded or uninhibited around Tygon.

 

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Clarke said, and that stupid smirk on his face grew wider.

 

“There was a saying, back before the bombs destroyed the war. Something about all work and no play making a person dull.”

 

Clarke was not amused. “If I’m so _dull_ , then we should probably end this dinner before it even begins.”

 

Clarke began to stand up, and Tygon was instantly right in front of her, his hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. How had he moved so quickly?! “Sit down, Clarke.”

 

She plopped back into her seat, and she was dismayed when he didn’t immediately go back to his seat. Instead, he leaned against the table, towering above her, taking her in. “I merely wished for us to begin with pleasantries,” he said, and Clarke nearly bristled.

 

“I wore your ridiculous choice of clothing. I came all the way here. I’m sorry to say that I doubt I can force myself to partake in this exchange of _pleasantries_ ,” she said.

 

He appraised her. “Fine. Then let’s get started. But first, you must try the food.”

 

Clarke was starving, but she wanted to refuse on a matter of principle. She knew she needed to eat to keep up her strength, but she worried that the food would be drugged; she refused to touch the wine. She carefully cut a small bite, and as soon as it touched her tongue, she couldn’t help but let out a small moan of appreciation. It was mouthwateringly good.

 

Tygon chuckled. “Seems as if you haven’t eaten in a very long time. Can I take that to mean that the _Trigedakru_ are low on supplies? There is no drought, so perhaps enemies have caused problems. Or maybe their new allies are greedy and only take. Conquerors often begin as friends or guests.”

 

Clarke glared at him. “It’s none of those things. If you knew anything, or you wanted to make peace, which is what all of you should be doing so we can live together and not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors, then you would know that we have been at war with an enemy – Mt. Weather.”

 

Tygon said nothing, only looked at her curiously, and Clarke snuck in another bite before she continued. This was safe territory; it wasn’t crucial information that could harm Lexa or her people, and maybe she could get Tygon to see common sense, that they should be allies, not enemies.

 

“They were taking Grounders _and_ my friends, using their blood and bone marrow for their own selfish gains.” Clarke suddenly remembered the missile and Tondc. But as far as she knew, the other tribe leaders had all been casualties of the tragedy. “Weren’t you asked to come to Tondc?”

 

Tygon took a sip of wine, and Clarke noticed his tense grip. “We were not asked to join. We were not recognized as one of the twelve nations. Lexa is but a child, and yet the _Trigedakru_ garner more respect than my tribe. We have limited resources, and we make do with what we can, but it is despicable.”

 

Clarke suddenly realized she’d stumbled onto something bigger than she’d expected – the political intrigue of the Grounder tribes. But Tygon seemed clever, and his people clearly seemed to respect him. He had keen observational skills, and were it not for the way he’d treated her, she’d try to reason with him as one leader to another.

 

“So you attacked us out of revenge? You should be grateful you weren’t at Tondc. The Mountain Men launched a missile, killing almost everyone.”

 

“And yet you survived,” he drawled, and Clarke immediately felt guilt claw up from the depths of her stomach. Like Finn’s death, this was a decision she’d desperately tried to tamp down, and in the adrenalin rush of all that had happened since, she could convince herself that she’d made the hard choice, but the right one. But now, it still haunted her, a constant torment of guilt and self-revulsion.

 

“That’s what I do,” she said, spearing another bite of meat and wishing she had some water.

 

“I can see that. So, since you are a survivor, you will answer my questions, _Fisa_ , because you want to protect both yourself and your people.” He chuckled at her defiant glare. “And don’t give me that look. If you would only try to see what I am offering you, you might discover that we can be on friendly terms.”

 

His look suggested his lewder inner musings, and Clarke gripped her fork tightly. He noticed, of course. “I wouldn’t suggest using such a small weapon. I think you’ll find my skin is thicker than you think.”

 

Clarke wanted to use both the forks and the pins to have a go at him, but she knew he was right. She had the pins, though, and she thought she could put them to use later if she could stave off Tygon’s impending questions.

 

They were suddenly interrupted by a door opening, and Tygon looked extremely aggravated. “I thought I was clear when I said no interruptions.” His voice was deadly soft, and Clarke found herself thankful that it was not directed towards her.

 

“Yes, _Heda_ , but we have a problem.” Clarke turned to see Jago in the room. For once, he didn’t seem interested in her; he was all business.

 

“Wastelanders?” Tygon asked, picking up on the seriousness of his Second.

 

“Yes. There’s been a breach, and a new set of demands were delivered along with… Several casualties.”

 

Tygon’s eyes turned to Clarke, narrowed. “We will finish dining tomorrow night, _Fisa_. For now, please finish your food and you will be escorted back to your tent.”

 

He stood and followed Jago out, and Clarke felt shocked. Just what was going on? And was her luck finally turning around? A girl could hope, she mused, hurriedly eating the meat. She wanted to get out of here before Tygon returned, but her time on Earth had taught her not to waste what little sustenance she could get; you never knew when you had to be at your strongest.

 

She hurriedly ate a few more bites, but nerves stemmed her appetite. One guard stood watching her, ready to lead her back across camp. As soon as she paused, he hauled her up by her elbow, leading her back across the open encampment. As soon as they entered the larger hut that contained the chamber she was being kept in, Clarke ran her hand into her hair.

 

The guard thought nothing of it, and he most likely regretted it a second later when Clarke was using it to attack him. She lunged at him, ready to stab with the pin, but he overpowered her, sending the pin skittering along the floor. Clarke found herself thinking quickly, looking at their surroundings. She scrambled back, finding an unlit torch along the wall. She snagged it just as he made a grab for her again, and using all of her body weight as momentum, she swung around, the torch connecting with the guard’s head. He crumpled, completely out cold, and Clarke knew her time was limited. She didn’t know how long Tygon would be preoccupied, by she was going to make the most of it.

 

She needed to drag this body out of the way so someone wouldn’t stumble upon it and realize she was missing. She grabbed another pin from her hair, and tendrils of blonde began to fall around her face. She used it to pick the lock on the nearest door, ready to stuff the body in there. As soon as the door swung open, Clarke gasped in surprise.

 

There, bound and gagged and looking extremely pissed, was Raven.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

As soon as Bellamy explained what had happened with Clarke to Octavia and Nyko, both had gone silent. Nyko didn’t seem especially surprised, but to say Octavia was _irate_ was the understatement of the century.

 

“If they touch even a _hair_ on her head, when I get to them, I’ll…” Bellamy stopped paying attention as the conversation devolved into all the nasty ways Octavia could think of to kill their captors. He knew the situation was serious, but he had to take a moment to appraise his little sister. It seemed that every time they were separated, she grew up so much more… Maybe even too much.

 

When he’d been in Mt. Weather trying to free their people, something had happened. He knew Octavia had become Indra’s Second, but it was more than that. It was almost as if something inside her had decided that she would be a fearsome warrior, and she would quell any doubts with her actions. And she certainly had, at that. Indra, who hated all the Sky People, legitimately seemed to respect O, and he had to say that she was quite the intimidating sight, even as slight as she was.

 

But she was still as loyal as ever. Bellamy knew she’d had some issues with Clarke, but here she was, determined to save the blond leader if it was the last thing they did.

 

“And then they’ll be begging for their mommies,” she finished. Bellamy suddenly grabbed her close, into a hug, and after the initial moment of surprise, she wrapped her arms around him as well. “What was that for?”

 

“Can’t a guy hug his little sister?”

 

“Quiet,” Nyko suddenly said, and the two broke apart, clocking his intense expression. “Do you hear that?”

 

“Hear what?” Octavia asked.

 

Bellamy cocked his head. “There’s nothing to hear.”

 

“Precisely. We’ve been here all day, and we’ve heard nonstop hustling, even into the evening. It’s very quiet.”

 

Jago suddenly entered the tent, speaking quietly to the guards. Bellamy couldn’t completely pick up what was going on, but Nyko seemed to get the gist. “Wastelanders,” he breathed.

 

“What? Nyko, what’s going on?” Octavia asked.

 

He turned to them. “It’s hard to completely say, but it sounds like this tribe is having trouble with the Wastelanders.” At the Blake siblings’ blank looks, he elaborated. “They are a group of outcasts, exiled from their respective clans for various reasons, and they patrol the Dead Zone. They abide by no laws, and they have no scruples. They would have no problem raiding and even murdering the citizens of a village such as this one. Tygon may be a bastard, but he at least recognizes how to lead a group of people. The Desert Tribe must be having trouble because of their location.”

 

“Why doesn’t he just ask the _Trigedakru_ and other nations to help, then?” Octavia asked, knowing how the Grounder nations had come together to help fight against the threat of Mt. Weather.

 

“The Desert Tribe is not officially recognized by the other clans.”

 

Bellamy was surprised by this. “Why not?”

 

“There is bad blood between them and our tribe, stemming back many generations. Tygon and Lexa have come to blows before too, during one attempted peace talk. Those two will never see eye-to-eye.”

 

“Maybe we could reason with these people, then. Maybe we could convince them to try for a treaty. I mean, who would have thought that Sky People and Grounders could be friends?” Octavia was always optimistic, even when it seemed hopeless, but it was something Bellamy liked about her. She was tough, but she was also kind and fair, and there was something to be said for her tenacity in creating peace between the two groups.

 

“It’s not our problem, O. We need to get you out of here first.”

 

Octavia didn’t look ready to drop the subject, but she quieted, knowing that this distraction might be what they need.

 

“We don’t know the way out of here,” Nyko said.

 

Octavia smirked. “If there’s anything I’m really good at it, it’s finding my way out of enclosed spaces.” When Nyko gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. “That’s what happens when you live under a floor for 16 years.”

 

The guards were definitely distracted. Jago had pulled two away from their posts, and the one who was left didn’t seem to be paying attention to the pen of prisoners at all. Bellamy looked around the pen. “Is there anyone here who we should involve?”

 

He didn’t see anybody he recognized who could help, but he suspected that there were other pens around the encampment. This couldn’t have been all the people who had been captured. What he would give to have Raven around right now to help bust them out, though…

 

Octavia shook her head. “Nyko and I checked earlier. It seems like there might be other groups of us elsewhere from what we’ve overheard.”

 

“I figured the same thing. Whatever the case, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

 

They needed a plan, and quick.

 

* * *

  

Clarke couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She immediately dropped the guard’s body, rushing over to Raven and yanking the gag off. Raven immediately let out a colorful stream of curses. “Those motherfu- “

 

“Quick, we don’t have much time.”

 

As Clarke worked to untie her friend’s hands, Raven gave her the up-and-down. “Clarke, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but what the _fuck_ are you wearing?”

 

“You want the long story, or the short one?”

 

“Well since we’re tight on time, let’s do the short one, but you better believe you are going to spill when we are out of this mess.”

 

Clarke gave off a little grin. Raven always knew the right thing to say, even though she sometimes had to be harsh. Their friendship had been on-and-off since they met, but the two intrinsically understood one another. Sometimes you had to do what you had to do to survive.

 

“All right. I woke up this morning, got drugged, and when I woke up again I was in some ridiculous get-up.”

 

“But not _this_ ridiculous get-up.”

 

“Right. A different one.” Clarke struggled with some of the knots before she brought in the pin, trying to use it to help get the bindings looser. “Anyway, I managed to sneak out, and I would have escaped too had it not been for Bellamy.”

 

“Bellamy’s here too? He wasn’t in the pen that I was being kept in.”

 

Shit. This meant there were multiple groupings of their people here. “I guess there have to be different groups of prisoners. I know Octavia was wherever Bellamy was.”

 

“I had Miller and Monty with me, but I had to leave them behind when I was trying to sneak out. But what happened with Bellamy?”

 

“He’d gotten himself an audience with Tygon.”

 

“Tygon?”

 

Clarke flushed, irritated with herself for using his name. “The Commander of the Desert Tribe.”

 

Raven gave her a look but said nothing, so Clarke continued. “They were about to execute the idiot when I stepped in.”

 

“How did you stop him?”

 

Clarke grew really uncomfortable, and Raven took another look at the outfit. “Ah. Gotcha.”

 

“And then he let me talk to Bellamy for an hour, but only if I discussed his terms at a dinner.”

 

“And that explains _this_ ridiculous get-up.”

 

“Yes.”

 

Clarke hoped Raven wouldn’t harp on her attire, and the mechanic fortunately picked up on that. “So you and Bellamy came up with a plan to break us all out of this, right?”

 

“Sort of… Well, we not totally. We need to find a way to get Octavia out with a message.”

 

Raven nodded. “Makes sense. She’s quick, she knows the terrain, and I bet Lincoln’s searching everywhere for her already.”

 

“Raven, what are you doing tied up in here?”

 

“Broke out of their stupid pens twice, managed to put together a weapon out of the parts I hacked away, but there were too many of ‘em. Some huge asshole tied me up and put me in here, like a present waiting to be unwrapped on Unity Day. Had a nasty leer, scarring around his knuckles.”

 

Clarke had a sinking feeling. She’d noticed those same disgusting stare when she’d first gotten here, been manhandled by those same scarred hands. “Sounds like Tygon’s Second, Jago.”

 

“You know everyone, don’t you?” When Clarke didn’t look amused, Raven grew more serious. “Sounds like him. He basically had me trussed up all day, waiting for him to get back.”

 

Clarke finally managed to get the bindings off, and Raven flexed her sore arms. “We have to get you out of here before he comes back.”

 

“The same could be said for you. If this guy Tygon is dressing you like that, then nothing good is gonna come out of it.”

 

As soon as Raven stood up, though, she began to limp. Clarke’s eyes widened. Fuck.

 

“Oh, yeah. Old wound, don’t worry. Turns out they haven’t been very gentle, and my brace is gone.”

 

Clarke’s hopes sank. Raven couldn’t possibly escape like this. But maybe they didn’t need her to escape… They just needed to hide her, and they needed to get Octavia out.

 

“Raven, I think I know where we can hide you while you’re recovering and you can help us get Octavia out.”

 

“Yeah? Where?”

 

“In the last place they’d look for you.” Clarke smiled at Raven’s confusion. “Back in the prisoner pen, only this time, we’ll get you in there with Bellamy.”


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 

Raven wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of going back to the prisoner pens, but she did see the logic in it. Clarke was right. There was no way she could stay here and wait for that sadistic pig Jago to get back, and she wouldn’t get far with her leg the way it was now. If she made it into Octavia and Bellamy’s pen, then at least she could help get Octavia out, and that was their best chance of getting reinforcements. If anyone had the determination to make it back, and if anyone could inspire the Grounders to help, it was Octavia.

 

But that didn’t mean that Raven had to like it. Clarke had hurriedly dragged the body of an unconscious Desert Grounder into another room; if Jago came back and saw the guard in here, then the jig would be up. Right now, Clarke was sure to be in trouble, but hopefully they could spirit Raven away without anyone being the wiser.

 

The two of them moved as quickly as Raven’s leg would allow, skirting along the edges of the tents as they looked for the pen Bellamy was in. Guards ran back and forth, and both women knew that something was going on. “Jago mentioned something about Wastelanders to Tygon at dinner,” Clarke whispered, and Raven nodded.

 

“I heard something similar earlier, but it didn’t necessarily sound like Wastelanders were the enemy,” Raven said, trying to remember what had happened as she’d been brought to Jago. “I think I almost stumbled into something big.” She glanced around the compound. “But I’m all turned around. I have no idea where I was compared to where I am now.”

 

Clarke thought this was odd. Tygon’s tone and Jago’s urgency certainly made the Wastelanders sound adversarial, but there was no time to deal with it now. She noticed the market, and remembered Bellamy mentioning he’d seen it. They crept along, Raven picking up random supplies that they stumbled across, like a wrench and a few nails. Raven seemed adamant about finding a scarf, or some sort of cloth, to throw about Clarke’s shoulders and hair.

 

“So they don’t recognize you,” Raven had said. “You don’t exactly… fit in.”

 

Clarke had given her one of the hair pins, and her hair now fell prettily around her face. They just wanted to ensure that Raven would have anything she needed to break Octavia out and fashion some sort of weapon.

 

As they snuck around the edge of a hut, Raven pointed to a conclave near the market. “There,” she whispered to Clarke. “That looks like the same type of hut that was housing the pen I first woke up in. But this location is definitely different.”

 

“Maybe it’s the one Bellamy and Octavia are in.” Clarke suspected it was, but there was only one way to find out.

 

Together, they crept around the side of the enclosing, looking for a way in, but there was only one entrance to the hut. “Damn,” Raven whispered, and the two knew they’d have to go in where guards would likely be watching over the prisoners.

 

So how were they supposed to get in without drawing a ton of attention to themselves?

 

Part of Clarke wondered if she should try to help Raven escape entirely, but it was futile. Raven was too hurt to make it far, and Clarke knew that the repercussions from that would be disastrous. Tygon hadn’t seemed sadistic, but Jago had. She didn’t want to test the waters any more than she already had.

 

But if Clarke Griffin and Raven Reyes couldn’t do this, then nobody could. And Raven had a plan. “We’ll cause a diversion.”

  
This was risky. “If it’s something too big, then they’ll send someone to my room,” Clarke said. She knew that Tygon would check up on her, and Hava was probably back there waiting right now.

 

“I didn’t say it had to be big. We’ll save the fireworks for another day. We just need to get some of the guards out of there.”

 

Clarke considered it. “If there are multiple guards in there, then it won’t work. They’ll send out a few to check on the disturbance, but the others will stay in there to guard the pen.”

 

“Then we’ll just have to hope for the best. You’re Clarke Griffin, though. You’ve beaten the odds a billion times before.”

 

Clarke didn’t believe in luck, but this was going to be the best chance. Whatever had distracted Tygon would hopefully being preoccupying several of the guards as well. This was the best chance they had.

 

“What do you have in mind?” Clarke asked, and Raven grinned.

 

* * *

 

“We need to think of some way to take out the one guard,” Bellamy said. He’d noticed that the pen was held together by some kind of mechanical fence enclosed in the conclave, and it seemed barbed and dangerous. The guards all seemed to know how to unlock it, so the best thing would be to take the guard captive and make him tell them what to do. But how were they supposed to do that when he was out there and they were in here?

 

A sudden banging nearby startled everyone, causing the prisoners in the pen to murmur nervously. The guard near the door shot to attention, but he seemed divided as he glanced back and forth between the pen and the exit to the outside. Bellamy could see he was torn – watch the prisoners, or investigate?

 

Another and even louder _BANG_ sounded nearby, and that seemed to clinch the guard’s decision. He took one more look at the pen before he rushed out, and Bellamy knew this was their chance.

 

He was instantly pushing through the crowd, attempting to get closer to the pen’s opening, Octavia and Nyko right behind him. Doubt crept up as he reached it and attempted to get it open, only to fail. Behind him, he heard Nyko moving nervously, keeping a look at the entryway. He felt Octavia’s eyes on his back.

 

“Bellamy. Look.”

  
Bellamy looked up at Nyko’s words, and his heart began to race a little quicker as he saw Clarke standing there with none other than Raven behind her. He let out a rare small smile. He hadn’t expected to see Clarke so soon, but damn was he happy that she was here.

 

And her attire… There was something about her in that dress that made heat rise in his face. He decided to chalk it up the sunburn as he looked at her. Yeah, that was it. The slits up the side were so high, and he had a sudden flash of pushing them to the side with his hands as Clarke laid back, her luminescent hair framing her beautiful face. He had a sudden flashback to earlier. Her hips straddling his, her hands going down his chest, lower and lower… Her head just above his, his eyes on her lips…

 

He shook his head. Whatever the case, this was no time for fantasies. He’d been fucked up ever since Mt. Weather. Hell, he’d been fucked up since before that, and he’d be damned if he dragged Clarke into his own personal Hell. That is, if they ever even escaped this place.

 

Raven and Clarke took a good look around the pen, and they spotted him immediately. Raven had already begun working on the lock as they began discussing what was going on. “Hey guys,” Raven said conversationally.

 

“Andwhen did _you_ get here?” Octavia asked, knowing what had happened with Clarke, but Bellamy had never mentioned Raven.

 

“Oh, you know. Having a tea party with these sadistic Desert bastards. You didn’t get the invitation? That was rude of them.”

 

“Raven was in another pen,” Clarke stated, and her eyes met Bellamy’s.

 

“They have more groupings of us,” Bellamy began, his voice gravelly. This was bad. Part of him had hoped to get out of here now, taking this entire group with him, but they would only be freeing some of their people.

 

Clarke nodded. “Yes.”

 

“Can you get us out?” Octavia asked. Nyko remained silent, watching as Raven used small tools to pick the lock.

 

“I can definitely break you out of here. The question is how many should go with you.”

 

“Everyone, obviously,” Octavia began, but Clarke shook her head.

 

“If everyone goes, the rest of our friends are gonna be the ones paying the price. The original plan was just Octavia, but I think we can get a few more out as long as it’s not noticeable.”

 

Bellamy agreed. He was glad that Octavia wouldn’t be alone, but his heart sank as he realized he couldn’t go with her. He had to stay here for the rest of their friends and people. But that didn’t mean Clarke had to stay. “Clarke, you need to go too.”

 

Clarke met his gaze again, and he saw something swimming there in the blue depths. What was going on in her head? Just when he thought he knew, he’d be wrong. She was a bit of a mystery, even after all the time they’d spent together.

 

“I can’t.”

 

Even Raven looked up at this. “Don’t be stupid, Clarke. We all know what Tygon wants with you, and if you don’t go, you’re going to find yourself in a bad situation.”

 

“If I do go, he’s going to punish everyone.”

 

“Clarke, everyone here would take a punishment for you.” Clarke looked at Bellamy as he said this, and part of her cringed when she realized how much more beat-up he looked now. Something must have happened to him after he’d left the chamber earlier. Someone had roughed him up, and she knew that he had willingly taken a punishment for her.

 

“I won’t do that to my people. My friends.”

 

“You’re more of a distraction here than a help,” Bellamy said, and she was hurt by his words, even if she saw the truth in them. “How can we think of escape when we’re worried that he’s in there forcing himself on you?”

 

The group was silent, everyone unmoving except for Raven’s hands as she worked over the latch to the pen. Clarke felt red creep into her cheeks as they examined her, their eyes straying to her outfit. She squashed the urge to cover up her body, or even to huff in frustration. Now wasn’t the time.

 

Something clicked, and Raven was suddenly slightly opening the door. Nyko had moved, his body blocking them from sight of everyone else in the pen. Bellamy saw what he was doing and mirrored the movement. They couldn’t let everyone see they’d opened their cage, or else mayhem would give away their situation and call the attention of the guards.

 

And speaking of the guards… “We need to get out of here before that guard comes back.”

 

“We’re fine,” Raven began.

 

“Raven conked him so hard that he’ll think his head is splitting open when he wakes up,” Clarke said wryly.

 

“So who goes?” Nyko asked.

 

Bellamy made a decision. “Clarke, Octavia, and Nyko.”

 

Clarke began to protest. “I can’t leave everyone. And we cannot leave Raven here. She was in just as bad a position as I was in.”

 

Raven’s shoulders sagged. “I can’t go. I’d just slow everyone down. I’m a liability,” she ended bitterly.

 

“We need Raven here to help us with breaking out,” Bellamy said, and his hand reached for Clarke’s shoulder. “And we’ve been over this. You have to leave. If not, I won’t be able to plan anything else. “

 

He suddenly bit his tongue, realizing that this was not what he’d planned on saying. But Clarke was looking at him strangely, as if trying to decipher some deeper meaning. _Let her think whatever she wants to_ , his mind began, _As long as she was far, far away from this Hell hole_.

 

“I can’t run in this dress,” Clarke tried again, but most of the fight had gone out of her. Bellamy’s words seemed to have worked.

 

Without further ado, he reached over, grabbed the dress and ripped it around her knees. The dress was now far shorter, and though Clarke was wearing decorative sandals, at least her movement wouldn’t be hindered now. She was startled, and part of her was indignant about the fact that he was literally ripping clothes off of her, but a smaller, wilder part of her was secretly thrilled by what was going on. Now if only there were time to dwell on it.

 

Raven gathered up the cloth. “We might need this later,” she explained.

 

“Now you have to go,” Bellamy said. “You three need to get out of here and get our people to send reinforcements. I’ll work on scoping this place out.”

 

Octavia launched herself at Bellamy, giving him a huge hug. “Be careful, Bel,” she whispered, and he held her a little harder, ignoring the pain this caused his sunburnt skin.

 

“I’ll be fine, O. Take care of yourself.”

 

She grinned at him before moving past Clarke and Raven towards the entrance. Nyko clapped a hand onto Bellamy’s shoulder. A silent exchange went on, and Bellamy felt safe leaving Octavia in the Grounder healer’s care.

 

Bellamy nodded. “Be safe.”

 

Clarke was giving Raven a hug. “We’ll come back for you. I promise.”

 

“You better. You guys obviously couldn’t survive a week without me,” Raven joked, but Bellamy could see that she was tired and anxious underneath her tough chick façade.

 

Clarke let out a little laugh before she turned to Bellamy. She hesitated, but slowly she wrapped her arms around him, and Bellamy found himself responding in kind. They hadn’t hugged many times, but it was generally fleeting and full of relief, both grateful that the other was still alive. This one was more sensual, and Bellamy found himself distracted by her breasts pressing against his chest through their clothes, or the smell of her clean hair next to his face. A lot had happened between them, and he found himself gripping her tighter, and it seemed right, like she fit together perfectly. But it was over too quickly, and Clarke was already pulling herself away.

 

“Take care of Raven,” Clarke said.

 

“I will.”

 

“Take care of yourself, too.” She paused, like she wanted to say more, but both of them knew time was of the essence. And who even knew what awaited them out in the desert? Clarke shook it off, leaving whatever was hanging between them left unsaid.

 

“You got it,” he said, voice gruff.

 

With that, she was slipping out of the tent with Octavia and Nyko, and perhaps Bellamy’s heart as well.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

Lincoln slammed his fist down for what seemed like the hundredth time. “We cannot wait any longer! Why delay when we know it was Tygon, that _branwada_ …”

 

He trailed off in a stream of curses, and Lexa gave him a look of both pity and understanding. It pissed him off. Didn’t she want to find Clarke? Lincoln knew how his commander felt about the pretty blond leader. It was pretty damn hard not to at least admire Clarke, after all.

 

Luckily, he had Indra on his team. “They will pay, that Desert Kru. They take my Second? They answer to _me_.”

 

Though he’d been skeptical at first, Lincoln was now extremely grateful for the strange kinship between Indra and Octavia. The older woman had taken O under her wing, and she genuinely seemed to care. It wasn’t like Indra didn’t know that people died in battle every day, but she seemed extremely angry at Tygon and his _kru_ for taking Octavia; she also seemed mad at herself for letting it happen.

 

But the worst part was that the Desert Tribe had a nasty reputation for using prisoners for… _unsavory_ tasks – labor or sex. Octavia was small, probably considered too tiny to help with difficult labor, but most of all, she was absolutely beautiful. It was one of the things that had first drawn Lincoln to her, though the curiosity in her eyes as she took in the new world surrounding her had been the real clencher. Everything else had just continued to suck him in, and now there was no escaping the pull that he’d felt towards her.

 

And even in the midst of the chaos, and the warring, he’d felt complete with her around. That is, until he’d gotten her brother captured and thereby betrayed her… They still had yet to have a real conversation about it, and Lincoln knew that it had been hovering at the periphery of their relationship ever since. There merely hadn’t been time to even think about it, what with the attack on Mount Weather and subsequent rescue of their people. And then finally the summit to really nail down the peace contracts between the Sky People and his own.

 

And then Tygon had attacked. Lincoln’s fury rose even thinking about it. They’d lost so many people that day, including his good friend Nyko, and even Octavia’s brother Bellamy, who’d been the real hero in the Mount Weather attack. Without him, they never could have succeeded in overthrowing the Mountain Men.

 

“We do not rush in without a plan. We are already weak from the attack on Mount Weather, and we are further crippled by our losses to Tygon,” Lexa said, calm as always.

 

“Then I can go alone. I can at least scout out what’s happening – “

 

“No!” Indra interrupted. “If anyone goes, it should be me, _Heda_. I can lead a small crew, move quickly, get some intel.”

 

Lincoln waited for Lexa’s wrath – of course he and Indra had been appealing to her all night – but the moment was interrupted by Abby Griffin storming in. She had a retinue of guards behind her, as well as Marcus Kane, and she looked _angry_.

 

“We’re not waiting any longer,” Abby stated, and Lincoln had to admit that for a woman with a very small stature, she managed to look quite imposing. “We are getting my daughter and our people back, and you’re either with us, or you’re not.”

 

Lincoln and Indra glanced at Lexa, knowing she wouldn’t like being told what to do, but amazingly enough, she smiled. “I see where Clarke gets it from.”

 

“What’ll it be?”

 

And for the first time since the attack, Lincoln felt hope. He would rescue Octavia, no matter what.

 

* * *

 

Clarke led the group as they slunk out of the tent. She still had a few hair pins to put to good use, but they didn’t have much else to fight with. This operation would be one of stealth, and she was glad to have two people who knew how to achieve that.

 

Octavia was clearly bothered by the fact that they couldn’t rescue more people, but she seemed to understand that this mission’s goal was to get out and reach reinforcements. With luck, this could be just like the Mount Weather rescue, where they had an army on the inside that only needed to be directed. Clarke just hoped that Bellamy could lay low until then.

 

Things seemed to be going well as the group snuck around so far. Nyko was extremely helpful, better at hearing when people were coming than Clarke or Octavia, and he often warned them of incoming Desert Tribers just in time to round corners.

 

“Which direction are we even facing?” Octavia whispered.

 

“North. You can tell by the stars,” Nyko said lowly, and again Clarke was grateful he was here. Octavia would definitely have the determination and speed to get the message to Lexa and the rest, but Nyko knew these lands better than she did. And Clarke felt guilty for leaving, but considering her position, she agreed it was probably best to – as the people before the Great War would say – “get the Hell out of Dodge.”

 

They grew closer to the market, where a few people still bustled around the mostly empty stalls. The hour was late, but it seemed the vendors never gave up trying to make a bargain. Clarke could hear heckling even from her position.

 

Nyko began to duck through empty booths, leading them through. A sudden call rang up in alarm, and Clarke startled when she heard Octavia hiss, “Clarke!” through her teeth. Clarke looked down.

 

The shimmering material of the dress seemed to have somehow caught the light, and she was aglow like a beacon. “Shit!” Clarke whispered.

 

Guards seemed to materialize as the Desert Grounders realized they had an intruder in their midst. Clarke guessed that not many of their own people went around dressed like this.

 

“We have to run,” Clarke said. “Hurry!”

 

The group took off, tearing through the market. Vendors began to step in their way, and Clarke grabbed a random item from one table. It appeared to be some sort of beautiful glass-blown bowl. Clarke brought it down on the next surface she saw, breaking it into shards and gripping the biggest spike left. She regretted breaking up such a beautifully crafted piece, but she was grateful a moment later as a guard grabbed at her.

 

Clarke spun, slashing with the shard, and she leapt away when the guard recoiled. Octavia and Nyko had similarly found strange weapons, and together they were carving a path through the market. But Clarke began to despair. They were causing a commotion, and more and more people were rushing their way.

 

_We’re not going to make it_ , Clarke though.

 

Octavia grabbed at Clarke as they ran. “Hurry!”

 

But Clarke had visibly begun to slow down. Octavia slowed, though Nyko continued to push ahead. “Clarke, we have to run!”

 

“We won’t get out if we keep going like this. We need a distraction.”

 

Octavia already knew what Clarke wanted to do. “You can’t. You don’t know what he’ll do to you – “

 

“No, but I know what they’ll do to you and Nyko. And we can’t escape without your help. You two have to make it back. Promise me, O?”

 

Octavia merely nodded, and Clarke gave her a quick squeeze. They’d had their problems in the past, as two headstrong girls would, but Clarke realized that Octavia always came through, time and time again. She was small, and everyone underestimated her, but her determination helped her push past every barrier in her way. And now, nothing would stop her in getting to Lincoln.

 

With that, Clarke was suddenly sprinting in the opposite direction as Octavia and Nyko. _Where’s the light?_ she wondered, but she didn’t have to look long before she saw a row of brightly lit torches near the side of the market. She dashed for it, knowing her dress would light her up and ensure everyone looked at her.

 

And making noise wouldn’t hurt either. “You want it? Come and get it, bastards!”

 

The first guard that reached her drew his weapon, but his eyes lit up in recognition upon looking at her. _Good_ , Clarke thought. At least they knew not to touch Tygon’s prize. The thought made her sick, but it would work to her advantage.

 

Clarke swung the bowl shard around, but it didn’t do much good against the heavily clothed guard facing her. He grabbed her wrist, much stronger, but she reached into her hair and took out another pin, stabbing it into his hand.

 

When he recoiled, Clarke punched him as hard as she could. She let out a _yelp_ as soon as her hand connected; her fist throbbed, telling her she’d probably strained her hand.

 

But there was no time to dwell. Instead, she continued to run down the row of booths, looking for anything and everything that could help her. She grabbed a pole that had two buckets on either side of it, heaving it up. It was heavy, but Clarke was strong. She swung it around and it connected with a guard’s torso. The impact sent him sprawling back, but it also wracked Clarke’s body, and her knees began to give under the weight of the beam.

 

She dropped it, and instantly another man was grabbing her by the bicep. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he seemed smart enough to know what she was up to. He swung her around, wrapping one wrist across her body as he grabbed at her. Clarke let out an indignant shriek when he got too handsy, and she reached up to yank out the last pin in her hair.

 

The blond hairs fell around her face, which seemed to distract the man for a moment as she brought the pin to his neck, stabbing him there. Instantly blood spurted out all over both her and him, and he fell to his knees.

 

Covered in blood and wearing the tattered remains of the white dress, Clarke readied to run, holding her hurt fist close to her body. She turned and smacked into a hard body. Hands grabbed at her, and she realized she was caught. She struggled more, but she found her wrists held behind her back, her chest jutting out to whoever was in front of her.

 

“Well, _Fisa_ , you’ve certainly made a mess here. Looks like you’ll have to be punished.”

 

Clarke looked up and found herself face-to-face with Tygon, and he did not look happy.

 

* * *

 

As they cleared the first dune just outside the village, Octavia looked back. Clarke had taken off shouting in the opposite direction, and though Octavia was grateful for it, she was also livid. Of course Clarke would play the martyr and go off to let them escape. That was just… so Clarke.

 

“Octavia. We must keep going. They will send out a hunting party when they learn of our absence,” Nyko urged.

 

 Octavia took one last glance at the camp. Clarke had been caught. That stupid dress made her impossible to miss, and an imposing man had her completely immobilized in front of him. His stance was predatory, and Octavia didn’t have think too hard to guess who that was. “Tygon’s got her.”

 

“There is nothing we can do for her now. We must make haste, and we can bring back reinforcements to help.”

 

Octavia nodded. They had to hurry, for Clarke, and for everyone.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

The night had passed, and Bellamy had heard a commotion shortly after Clarke, Octavia, and Nyko had taken off, but he really had no way of knowing if they’d escaped or not. All he knew was that they hadn’t been brought back to the pen, which could have been either a good or a bad sign.

 

“Are they kidding me with this shit?” Raven griped next to him. Bellamy glanced at her. Her leg had become an hindrance again, worsened by the scuffle of when they’d been captured. He could practically feel the frustration oozing off of her. From what she’d told him, he’d managed to get out of her confinement – not only once but _twice_ – in true Raven fashion, only to be captured again because of her injury.

 

Right now, she looked murderous as she stared at a small container of what could only be described as gruel. Bellamy secretly agreed with her, but he wasn’t about to let this problem waste his time.

 

“It’s probably better than what we had on the Ark, anyway.”

 

“You serious? This crap looks like it could be used as suspension fuel. If Wick saw this, he could probably use it to mass engineer some kind of glue to build legitimate buildings out of.” She dipped a finger in it and put it to her mouth, making a disgusted face one second later. “Lexa’s Grounders could probably manufacture some kind of poison from it.”

 

“Maybe they will when Clarke reaches them,” he tried to joke.

 

Raven cocked her head and studied him. “Clarke and Octavia, you mean.”

 

“Of course,” he said, brow furrowing. “I just meant that Clarke will make sure that they come back for us. She’s stubborn that way.”

 

Raven wanted to roll her eyes, but she settled for pushing away the bowl of food in disgust.

 

Bellamy shook his head. “You need to eat it. We need to be strong enough to break out when the time is right.”

 

“Right, because eating this congealed mess is going to help me escape here.” She sent a bitter look to her leg.

 

“We’re gonna get out of here, Raven. You included.”

 

“You have to say that. You’re the fearless leader.”

 

Bellamy shook his head. “Not so much anymore. Just being honest.”

 

“You’re a lot of things, Blake, but honest isn’t always one of them.”

 

Bellamy put his gruel down. He hadn’t touched it, but he knew he had to eat. Only, it could wait, considering the sudden serious turn this conversation had taken. “Got something to say?”

 

“Nothing that you don’t already know yourself.” His intense stare made her continue. “You’re lying to yourself if you don’t think you’ve got it bad for our _other_ fearless leader.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said gruffly, but she ignored him, pushing on.

 

“Let’s see… You pretty much braved going into Mount Weather because she told you to, and you’ve clearly gotten yourself pretty beat up here. Doesn’t take a genius to guess the reason for that.”

 

Goddamn Raven. The girl was too smart for her own good. Bellamy was annoyed by her observations. He was also confused by them. He didn’t even know what exactly it was that he felt where Clarke was concerned, but there was… Something there. It used to be hatred, when he’d first met her, and then resentment. This pretty princess, one of the privileged few who had it good on the Ark. But then they’d begun working together, and even depending on one another.

 

But she’d told him that his life was worth the risk of going into Mount Weather. It’d felt like a gut punch at the time, but the terrible feeling had remained with him, remembering how she hadn’t cared.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told her. “Clarke is a great leader, and I do what I have to do for our people, but that doesn’t mean there’s something there.”

 

“See, this is what I mean about honesty – “

 

“Shut up, Raven.” Bellamy felt himself growing angry. Raven never knew when to stop talking. “She was willing to let me die. She lied to me about Octavia. I respect Clarke, and I trust her to roll the hard six when it comes to the best decisions for the group, but that doesn’t mean anything. I should hate her for what happened down there.”

 

But this sounded hollow, even to Bellamy’s ears. Sure, there were still a lot of hard feelings left over after the terrors of his time in Mount Weather, demons that he wasn’t sure he could eve truly rid himself of. But then when she’d told him that he’d come through for her, that he always came through… Even in the midst of the craziness, those words had meant a great deal more than they should have.

 

And then the last 24 hours had happened. When he’d heard those men talking about Clarke, all the anger and reservations he’d had left after the Mount Weather rescue had nearly evaporated. She’d completely overtaken his mind, and seeing her in those _damn outfits_. It made him want to groan in frustration.

 

Bellamy felt a small hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Raven looking at him, understanding in her eyes. “It’s a thin line between love and hate, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy swallowed. This conversation was confusing him. It was muddling his head; he had so many things he wanted to say… But everything ground to a halt as shouting sounded outside the tent, and suddenly Jago stepped into the holding area.

 

“Behind me, quick.” Bellamy said to Raven, who was already on the move. Jago could not be allowed to find her here.

 

But unfortunately, Jago was skimming the crowd with purposeful eyes. He was looking for someone. Raven pressed herself flatter to the ground behind him, and Bellamy’s stomach sank when Jago’s eyes stopped upon meeting his own. The Desert Second turned to his men and said something, and suddenly men were pushing through the crowd towards them.

 

Bellamy spoke quietly, but he knew Raven could hear. “You need to get away from here. They’re coming this way.”

 

He glanced down, but Raven was already gone. Smart girl. She knew what to do. He would do everything he could to hinder the guards in their search for her.

 

But when the guards cut through the crowd, they didn’t continue further, but instead grabbed his arms, incapacitating him. He was forced out of the pen, where he was slammed onto the ground. He looked up at Jago.

 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said, voice low. When Jago didn’t respond, merely smirking, Bellamy continued. He tried to keep the anger from his voice, but he knew he wasn’t succeeding. “What do you want?”

 

“Ah, _gona_. I came here for _you_.”

 

* * *

 

It was already afternoon, and Clarke hadn’t moved from her bed. She could tell Hava was worried, but she couldn’t have gone anywhere if she’d wanted to. After her capture, she’d been dragged back to this chamber, kicking and screaming. Tygon had thrown her on the bed, easily catching her wrists and binding them together.

 

Clarke had tried to buck him off, but he was too strong. She knew it was crazy, but all she could think was, _He lied. He said he wouldn’t force me, and yet here he is_.

 

But she’d been wrong yet again. Instead, he’d whipped her feet, the soft skin on the arch of her foot, bleeding as he cut it over and over again. And she’d cried, which had made her angry. Clarke Griffin didn’t cry. She’d survived the crash down to Earth, the wilderness when they’d first arrived, the hostile Grounders, and even the enemies in Mount Weather. Clarke Griffin overcame any obstacles in her path.

 

“So you remember that running away is not an option,” Tygon had told her, but Clarke knew the real reason he’d taken to this form of punishment. She already knew that he didn’t want to mark up her face or body, and he wouldn’t have to look at the bottom of her feet.

 

After he’d finished, her feet a bloody mess, he’d turned to Hava, cowering in the corner. “Deal with her,” was all he’d said, and then Tygon had swept from the room.

 

Hava had tended to her faithfully, and very gently. She’d cleaned the cuts, and even put the soothing lotion on them, but they still smarted. Clarke knew she wouldn’t be able to escape again like this. She’d need time to heal; her feet were tender, and she hadn’t even tried walking on them.

 

“Clarke?” Hava tried, but the blonde didn’t respond. “Can I do anything for you?”

 

Clarke could tell the young girl was afraid and upset, and she inhaled sharply. She needed to pull herself together. _At least Octavia and Nyko got away, and Bellamy will keep Raven safe_ , she thought.

 

Clarke slowly pushed herself up, curling her body around to inspect her feet. Hava had done a good job of dressing them, but these would take days to scab over and begin growing new skin. That was days more under Tygon’s control.

 

“Clarke?”

 

“Thanks, Hava, but I’m all right. Is there any food?”

 

Hava shook her head. “I’m so sorry, but there isn’t.”

 

Clarke’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten enough the night before, and she was feeling it. Perhaps this was another punishment. Thinking about the night before made her so angry.

 

It also made her remember something. “Hava, who are the Wastelanders?”

 

Hava’s eyes widened. “They are not a part of any tribe. They are ruthless, and lawless. They take what they want, even if it does not belong to them, and they prey on the weak. They have tried to take this village many times, but Tygon has stopped them.”

 

The reverence in the girl’s tone made Clarke feel sick. She’d seen Clarke’s punishment from this same leader last night, and still she admired him so?

 

“Why can’t Tygon eradicate the threat entirely? He has an army here at his disposal.”

 

“They number too many, and they have no scruples. They are not above harming innocents for their bounty. The only reason they have not completely overtaken this village is because they cannot get in. Tygon controls the flying patrols that protect us, and the Wastelanders cannot bypass those.”

 

Flying patrols? This was getting more confusing by the second. “What do you mean?”

 

Hava looked torn, like she wanted to explain but didn’t quite know how. “They are small machines, and they have projectiles that tear through flesh, like the guns you carry. They are able to fly through the air.”

 

But before Hava could respond, the door was opening, and Tygon himself stepped through. Clarke threw him a look of hatred, and he smiled at her. “Feeling better, _Fisa_? That look indicates you must be.”

 

“You’re a monster,” she nearly spat.

 

“Perhaps that is true, but it takes one to know one. You killed a guard last night, one of my friends. Stabbed him in the neck with a hair pin.” Tygon fixed Hava with a look, and she looked like she was going to be sick. “Which you will no longer have access to.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“To inform you that we will finish our dinner tonight where we last left off. I have not gotten the intel that I wanted, and you still owe me a boon.”

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

Tygon fixed her with a patient look. “You know what will happen if you refuse. I have your people at my disposal. I know that your concern for them far outweighs your abhorrence of me.”

 

“I can’t even walk that far, thanks to you.”

 

“Then I shall just have to carry you,” Tygon said lightly, as if the idea amused him. He turned to leave. “Be ready in two hours. We have much to discuss.”

 

As soon as he left, Clarke fell back onto the bed, throwing her arm over her eyes. She refused to cry more tears about this. Octavia had escaped, and that was all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

Octavia was so thirsty. They had yet to see anything other than dunes, and she hoped that Nyko knew where they were going. It was late afternoon, and the sun was beating down on them, _hard_.

 

“Any idea how much longer until we’re out of the desert?” she asked.

 

“We will reach the end of the Dead Zone by morning at the latest, which is good. We will need to find water as soon as the desert begins to end.”

 

Octavia agreed, but before they could say more, they heard shouting in the distance. “What’s that?”

 

“Quickly, duck!”

 

The two of them hid along the side of a dune and looked ahead. A group of men on horseback chased a single man running on foot. They shouted and whooped as their horses slowly gained on the man, as if it were some sort of game.

 

“Wastelanders,” Nyko spat.

 

“Who are they?”

 

“Gluttonous devils living off travelers crossing through the Dead Zone. They have found one such prey now.”

 

“We should help him. Maybe he has water,” Octavia said, beginning to stand, but Nyko pulled her down, and she hit the sand with a _whump_.

 

“No! Do not be foolish, Octavia. That man is a goner.”

 

But the Wastelanders on horseback had suddenly began to slow their horses, some coming to a complete stop as the man ran ahead.

 

“They’re stopping.” Octavia found herself rooting for the lone traveler, hoping he would get away.

 

And it looked like he might… Until a sudden _whirring_ started up and a small, flying object shot up in the air. It zoomed in front of the man, as if it were staring him down, before suddenly releasing a stream of bullets, cutting him down.

 

The man fell, and the machine returned to its original hidden position. The Wastelanders cheered from where they stood, laughing at the scene ahead of them.

 

And both Nyko and Octavia couldn’t stop staring. “That weapon…” Nyko began.

 

Octavia nodded grimly. “It’s a drone.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

“I’m not wearing that,” Clarke stated. She hated to be so forceful with Hava, but there was no way in Hell she was going out in that outfit. What she’d already been subjected to had been ridiculous enough, but this? This was too much.

 

“ _Heda_ Tygon said you would say that, but he also said to tell you it is either this or dining with him naked,” the girl responded carefully.

 

Clarke merely stared at her. How was she supposed to get out of this situation? “Hava, you can’t make me change.”

 

“I was told that if you will not cooperate, the guards are happy to assist in changing you.”

 

Of course they were. This was just great. Clarke took in the offensive material in front of her. It reminded her of Lexa’s commander outfit a little bit, but mostly just the material. It was leather, which was strange; she would be extremely hot in such material out here in the desert.

 

To make matters worse, it looked extremely small, and extremely tight. Clarke had no doubt that she would need help both getting into and out of such a dress. It was almost like another type of bondage, meant just to prove that Tygon was the one calling the shots here, and Clarke had little to no power in the situation.

 

“Fine…” Clarke grumbled, trying to think of a way out of this. Her feet were killing her, and she was starving. She was tired, and she was worried, and the last thing she needed was a bunch of guards manhandling her when Hava was here to help.

 

Hava helped Clarke into the dress, and the blonde grimaced when she stood for too long on her feet. She knew they’d still be tender in the morning, but she hoped she’d still be able to walk. Whatever the case, she needed to be in as good of shape as she could for when Octavia led the rescue party back here.

 

Clarke looked in the mirror as soon as the dress was in place. She was right about it being both short and snug. It was hardly decent with its length, just under the curve of her butt. She felt like she wasn’t wearing pants, and it was disorienting. The top of the dress had two straps that led into a deep-V. Like the previous outfits, she couldn’t wear a bra with it, but because of the fit, she had enough support. It also gave everyone an ample view of her assets. The rest of the dress clung, and since it was leather, there was no give at all. She felt constricted and slightly claustrophobic as she stared at her reflection.

 

The dark grey color made her looks stand out even more, and for the umpteenth time Clarke cursed her blond hair. She knew that was ridiculous, though. Tygon would have eventually tried to question her anyway once he’d learned she was the leader of the 100 and the Sky People. He wanted information first and foremost, after all. Or so he claimed. His actions spoke otherwise.

 

Hava approached with some kind of charcoal. She put her hand on Clarke’s chin, and Clarke broke away from her. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m sorry, Clarke, but this is part of my _Heda_ ’s request,” the girl said.

 

Clarke eyed the charcoal. “What do you do with it?”

 

“It is used to outline your eyes.”

 

“Like war paint?”

 

“Yes, but in a much subtler way.”

 

For some reason, Clarke desperately wanted to keep the charcoal. A part of her missed drawing, but she felt that it could be useful if she had to leave some kind of message. “Hava, I’ll let you put that on me, but I want to keep a piece of it for myself after if that’s all right.”

 

Hava seemed to think about it for a minute, but the request seemed harmless enough. “Well…. Maybe I should ask _Heda_ …”

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Clarke said in what she hoped was a light, dismissive fashion. “I just really love to draw. It would really make me happy.”

 

And of course, because Hava so loved to please, the girl looked thrilled with this. “Of course! I am sure it’s fine. You can keep this after I finish with your eyes.”

 

“Great.”

 

Clarke sat patiently as Hava used the charcoal around her eyes. “Done!” the girl said after a few minutes.

 

Clarke glanced at herself in the mirror again, and she found herself unable to look away. The lining on her eyes was very dramatic, but it didn’t look like war paint. It made the blue of her irises stand out even more.

 

She wanted to wipe it away immediately. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t some stupid doll that could be dressed up however Tygon wanted. She gripped the dress tightly, wincing when she squeezed her injured hand too hard.

 

Her stomach growled, and Clarke realized they must be nearing supper time. She readied herself for whatever Tygon had in store for her.

 

* * *

 

Jago slammed Bellamy into a wall, and Bellamy grunted at the impact. He supposed this is what happened when you back-talked your captors, but it was hard for him to hold his tongue. He hated Jago already, and he didn’t understand what was going on.

 

“You are an insolent fool, to push me so. Your life hangs in the balance – “

 

“I don’t think so,” Bellamy interjected. “You need me, for something, so why don’t we cut through the bullshit and get to the point.”

 

Bellamy wondered if Jago would punch him again, but instead the Second smiled. He came close, his face rather too close, and one of his hands wrapped around Bellamy’s throat. Bellamy looked down, noting the many scars on the man’s hands. They were strange, and irregular, as if he had been deliberately cut there.  

 

“All right, _gona_. We will cut through ‘the bullshit.’ I need you to steal something for me.”

 

When Bellamy didn’t respond, Jago continued, hand still around Bellamy’s throat. “There is a book filled with codes in my Commander’s chambers. I want you to get it for me.”

 

“Why can’t you get it yourself?” Jago didn’t respond, and Bellamy turned it over in his head. Why couldn’t Jago simply go in and grab this book? It suddenly hit him, though, and he nearly smirked at the Desert Tribe Second. “You can’t read, can you?”

 

Jago’s grip tightened. “We are a tribe of warriors, not _kwelnes_. I need the book, and you will be the one to deliver it to me.”

 

“And _why_ would I do that?”

 

“Does the threat of hurting your people not inspire you whatsoever? How heartless you are.”

 

“I can’t imagine Tygon would go for that,” Bellamy drawled. “I tell him your little secret, that you want this book of codes, and all of a sudden I think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”

 

“So cocky, _gona_ of the _Skaikru_. If you do not help me, you will never see your precious _Clarke_ again. But I can promise you that I’ll take good care of her.”

 

Bellamy stiffened. “You can’t touch her. Your Commander made it pretty clear that she was under his protection.”

 

Jago shrugged. “That was before the bitch tried to escape and killed a guard in doing so. Tygon had her punished, and she won’t be doing much running now.”

 

“What does that mean?” Bellamy was growing more and more concerned.

 

Jago merely chuckled in response. Bellamy pressed onwards. “Was she alone?”

 

“Curious question, _gona_. Of course she was alone. Why?”

 

“Where is she?”

 

“Ah, so you do care. I thought so. Tygon could tell as well, but she played it so cold the other day. Or maybe your feelings are unrequited. Whatever the case, she won’t last long now that Tygon’s good will is running out, and when he’s through with her, I’m sure she’ll be mine for the taking. And after me, I have several unit leaders whom I’m sure would love a turn.”

 

Bellamy’s stomach roiled, sick at the thought. Clarke hadn’t escaped. It seemed like Octavia and Nyko may have gotten away, but at a cost. Or so said Tygon. “You could be lying.”  

 

“I’m not. But because I’m feeling generous, how about this? I let you see her with your own eyes, but after that I own you. You will do what I tell you and steal the book, and you will tell me the codes.”

 

“How do I know you won’t harm her after that?”

 

“You don’t, but you can rest assured that if you don’t help me now, you’ll soon hear her screams from across the camp, and you will have yourself to blame for that, _gona_. Now what is your decision?”

 

Bellamy didn’t know what Jago wanted with this book, but it certainly couldn’t be a good thing. Regardless, he knew he didn’t have much choice as of now. He would steal the book of codes. “Take me to her.”

 

Jago smiled. “Good boy.”

  

* * *

 

 

The Wastelanders had left shortly after their sport was done. The victim of the drone attack lay where he’d fallen, body left to rot away in this dead zone. Octavia and Nyko lay still against the dune, unmoving until they were sure it was safe.

 

“They’ve been gone for forever. We should go now. We need water,” Octavia began, but Nyko shook his head.

 

“That machine gunned that man down for crossing a border. If we make one wrong move, that could be us.”

 

“But maybe the drones are just meant to keep outsiders out, rather than to keep people in. It could just let us pass.”

 

“Do you really want to take that chance?”

 

Octavia huffed. That drone was too fast. If she was wrong and it did go after them, they’d be cut down in a matter of seconds. Not to mention the Wastelanders on the other side of whatever this border was were probably out and about. They needed to figure out their next move, and fast.

 

“Do you think there are more?” Octavia asked, wondering if they could sneak around it.

 

“It would make sense. Lexa has always wondered how Tygon has stopped the Wastelanders from overrunning him. He must have figured out how to control these… _drones_ , as you call them. The Wastelanders didn’t try to pass into the Desert Tribe territory, like they knew it was here.”

 

“If I were a Commander, I’d place them equidistant along the border, and then monitor them from a home base. So maybe we could try to disable the drone,” Octavia began, thinking out loud.

 

Nyko stared at her. “How will we get close enough?”

 

Octavia’s eyes glowed bright, and Nyko was surprised by her determination. “There’s two of us and one of it, at least in this area. One of us will distract while the other disables it.”

 

“That’s very risky, Octavia.”

 

“Everything that’s happened so far has been risky. It’s just another Wednesday on Earth. But I can’t do this alone, Nyko, and we have to get back to Lexa and reinforcements. You in?”

 

Nyko took a deep breath, but his hand reached out and clasped hers. “I’m in.”

 

Octavia grinned. “Good.”

 

Nyko found his lips tilting up as well; her smile was infectious. “I can see why Lincoln loves you so.”

 

Octavia’s smile fell somewhat. “I miss him.”

 

“We will reach him soon enough. And I have no doubt that he’s out there looking for you.”

 

As they began to plan out how to best take down the drone, Octavia found herself hoping that Nyko was right.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

They had split into groups, and Lincoln’s small team had fanned out far ahead. Lexa still didn’t trust him completely, and she had sent Indra to watch him. Both women knew that Lincoln could be a little reckless when it came to Octavia.

 

But it wasn’t just the two of them. Abby had ensured that those who wanted to come from the Sky People were represented in each group too. She herself traveled with Lexa, Kane, and a few Grounder guards. Lincoln would have been fine with the arrangement, if only the Sky Person who’d been placed with them wasn’t quite so… chatty.

 

“And I know we’re on a timeline here, but I think we’ve definitely earned a two-minute break. I would settle for one minute, even. Let’s just say my job doesn’t normally call for such conditioning.”

 

Indra rolled her eyes, but she nodded to Lincoln, and they slowed for a moment. Lincoln looked back at the man chugging from a canteen. Lincoln remembered that this man’s name was Wick, and he’d picked up on something going on between him and Raven. He’d been instrumental in taking down Mount Weather, but he didn’t seem like much of a warrior.

 

“If you can’t keep up with us, maybe you should go with another group,” Lincoln said. “We aren’t going to slow down.”

 

Wick looked up, putting his canteen away. “Hey, I want to find them as much as you do. You’re not the only one with someone important over there.”

 

Lincoln stared him down, but Wick met him eye-for-eye. After a second, Lincoln nodded. “Then let’s get moving. We are nearing the dead zone, and it will only be a few hours until we reach the Desert Tribe’s territory.”

 

Wick nodded, and Indra huffed out, “Let’s go.”

 

As they ran, Lincoln slowed so that he was next to Wick. “You are like Raven? Good with technology.”

 

Wick huffed out a brief laugh. “Like Raven? I guess so, but don’t ever let her hear you say that.”

 

Lincoln was confused. “Why not? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.”

 

“Really? And does it look like a man who put his heart out on the line only to get it stomped all over?”

 

“Raven lost someone very important to her not long ago.” A silence hung in the air for a split second as they remembered Finn’s death. “That can be traumatizing.”

 

“You seem to know a lot about her. I didn’t know you two were friends.”

 

Friends? Lincoln hardly knew Raven. He knew how important she’d been in helping the 100 survive, and how lethal she could be when she put her mind to it. Without her, none of them would be here.

 

He also remembered how she’d electrocuted him when he’d first been captured, and how she created the bomb that blew up the bridge not so long ago.

 

“We’re not. I don’t know what Raven and I are.”

 

Wick looked ahead as they ran. ”That makes two of us.”

 

They were silent after that, Wick lost to his own thoughts. Lincoln’s mind returned to Octavia, and he picked up the pace. He’d never met Tygon of the Desert Tribe, but he had heard all sorts of unsavory things about the way prisoners were treated there. Lexa seemed to hate them, and that extended to much of her clan. Lincoln just hoped he got there before Tygon had the chance to do anything too harmful.

 

* * *

 

Clarke had only been able to walk halfway to the dining chamber before she found herself unable to stand for the pain on her feet. The cuts stung. There were too many of them, and every step felt like fire was licking at the bottoms of her heels. She’d collapsed, and some unknown guard had had to carry her the rest of the way. When she’d arrived in his arms, Tygon had merely grinned at her.

 

“Well this hardly seems fair. You let Bastian here carry you and yet all I receive is a glare? At least I know you’ll need someone to help you on the way back.”

 

Clarke settled into her seat. “Don’t even think about it.”

 

“Ah, well it’s much too late for that, _Fisa_. When it comes to you, I’ve probably already thought it.”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”

 

“I’m a man of many talents,” he responded, taking a hearty gulp of his wine. “I am able to multitask quite well. But how very kind of you to think of me.”

 

Clarke took a bite of her food, and suddenly her mouth felt like it was on fire. Some kind of spice? Whatever the case, she instantly looked for water, and to her annoyance she realized that Tygon still hadn’t given her any. Instead, all that she had to quell the sudden heat in her mouth and throat was the glass of wine. She grabbed at it, chugging it in one go.

 

It was bitter, this red wine, but it quelled the taste of the spicy food. As soon as she set the glass down, someone was filling it up again, and Clarke looked up to see Tygon smirking at her. “Too spicy, Clarke?”

 

Clarke’s stomach growled. She knew she needed to eat. Her feet were already wrecked; she didn’t need to add weak from hunger to her list of problems. “May I have some water?”

 

“My dear, this is the finest beverage we have here in camp. Now why don’t you try to enjoy it?”

 

He talked for some more time, discussing mundane things that Clarke barely listened to, but she was sweating before too long. The leather dress was oppressive, and so tight. The food was so spicy, but she knew she had to eat it, and every bite was accompanied by another gulp of wine, which was constantly being refilled. Before she knew it, she’d had quite a few glasses, and her face felt extremely hot.

 

But she felt good. Almost light, and maybe a little dizzy. Was it her or was Tygon growing slightly less annoying? He was talking about how his tattoos symbolized something from battles, but Clarke was having trouble staying focused on the conversation. What was happening?

 

“If you think that tattoos make a guy look more badass, you’re wrong,” Clarke slurred.

 

Tygon smiled at her, amused. “Oh? They are considered quite attractive around here. What do you look for in a man, then, _Fisa_?”

 

Clarke tilted her head. She took another bite of food, followed by another gulp of wine. When she put the glass down, it almost fell over, but a Desert woman managed to grab it and refill it quickly. Clarke smiled at the girl before answering.

 

“I don’t have time to think about that.”

 

“What do you think about instead?”

 

_Keeping everyone alive_. That was pretty much the thing that was always at the front of Clarke’s mind, even now, even in this state. “The people I care about.”

 

“What about them?”

 

“How to protect them.” She suddenly looked around, thinking about where she was. “From people like you.”

 

He grew slightly more serious. “I suppose we aren’t so different after all.”

 

“We are _nothing_ alike.”

 

“No? I spend all my time thinking about my people, and how to protect them. I train my mind and body as both a warrior and a leader, and I do what I have to in order to survive.” Tygon stood up and began stalking towards her. Clarke also stood, the wine numbing her senses and dulling the pain in her feet, but he was too quick, and she found herself sitting down again as his arms caged her in.

 

“And in order to survive, I’m going to need to know more about Lexa and her tribe. So tell me what I need to know, and I will reward you.”

 

“I won’t tell you anything,” Clarke spat.

 

He leaned closer. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Clarke. I could use a strong woman like you, by my side. You wouldn’t be a prisoner, but a queen in your own right.”

 

She didn’t respond, instead looking away, but his hand came down to grip her chin as he forced her to look back at him. “I am offering you the chance at a new life. All you have to do is give me a little bit of information, and I can help your people. Your _friends_.”

 

He leaned in further, his lips nearly touching hers. She could feel his breath because of the proximity. “All you have to do,” he whispered, “Is give in to me.”

 

With that, he pressed forward, hungrily claiming her lips. For a second, Clarke’s hazed mind wondered if this was so bad. Tygon was attractive, and strong, and he could help her imprisoned friends.

 

Tygon moved his lips from her mouth down her jaw, where he sucked on her neck. “Just… give in.”

 

A whisper escaped Clarke’s lips, “Bellamy…”

 

_Bellamy_. And clarity suddenly came crashing down upon her. What was she doing? Tygon was a manipulative and smart bastard. He was a monster. He’d gotten her drunk and he was taking advantage of her. 

 

“No!” A _slap_ resounded throughout the room, followed quickly by Clarke’s cry. She cradled her right hand, still injured from the night before, and she looked up to see red blooming on Tygon’s cheek. She’d slapped him hard, and he looked positively murderous.

 

“Foolish girl. You’ll tell me what I want whether you want to or not.”

 

“You’ll never break me. I will _never_ give you what you want,” Clarke spat, and he leaned in further.

 

A door opened, and someone cleared their throat. Both Tygon and Clarke looked up to see Jago standing at the door. “ _Heda_ ,” the Desert Second said.

 

“Your interruptions are growing irksome, Jago. What do you need?”

 

“Apologies, but this cannot wait. There’s been activity on the west borders, _Heda_. How do you want to proceed?”

 

Tygon nearly growled in frustration, but he stood up. “Gather some men and meet me in the strategy chambers. I have some business to conclude here.”

 

Jago glanced down at Clarke. “ _Heda_ , if I may?” When Tygon didn’t respond, Jago continued. “If the men believe you are toying around rather than seeing to urgent matters at hand – “

 

In a deadly calm voice that terrified Clarke, Tygon interrupted his Second. “Are you questioning me, Jago?”

 

Despite her intoxication, Clarke could see that there was something going on here, some kind of tension between the two men. And while Jago was bigger and older, she would not have bet against Tygon if it came to blows between the two.

 

Finally, Jago responded. “No, _Heda_. I merely meant that I have arranged for someone to take this prisoner back to her chambers already, since I knew you would not want to delay.”

 

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief when Tygon took a step away from her, composing himself. Jago had caught him, and Clarke could now see that two more Desert Men stood behind the Second, observing the situation.

 

“Fine.” Tygon gestured to the two. “Please bring our little _Fisa_ back to her room. She can’t walk, but be mindful not to be too handsy.”

 

Tygon fixed her with a stare. “I don’t like sharing things that are _mine_.”

 

As one of the men came, lifting her from her seat, Clarke huffed indignantly, but chose not to say anything. Tensions were high in this room, and she wasn’t in the right state of mind. She needed to get out of here.

 

Before the man carrying her exited the room, Tygon spoke once again. “And Clarke?” She looked back at him, willing her eyes to focus despite how heavy her head felt. “Once again we are not finished here. I _always_ get what I want.”

 

With that promise, Tygon swept out of the room, followed by Jago. Clarke swallowed that information as the two Desert Tribe soldiers brought her back to her room. They joked about something, and she heard something mentioned about her hair, but she didn’t have the capacity to try and decipher what they were saying right now. She needed water. She needed sleep. She needed to never drink this damned wine again. It was messing with her head.

 

Once she was back to the door of her room, the man dropped her unceremoniously on her feet, and Clarke let out a small cry of pain. Despite her drunkenness, the impact had been hard, and her feet still hurt so badly. She limped into her room, noting that Hava didn’t appear to be here. All she wanted to do was get to the bed.

 

As she neared it, someone suddenly caught her wrist. Startled, Clarke swung around, ready to punch out, but whoever it was caught her fist. But the hold was gentle, and as Clarke focused her eyes, she nearly gasped in surprise. It was Bellamy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone go check out clementinemarch and her fic "A part of me sky" - it's amazing!


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

Bellamy thought he should have been used to seeing Clarke in these scandalous outfits by now, but this was the worst one yet. It clung to every curve of her body, and it was low-cut. As if his eyes didn’t have enough trouble staying on her face…

 

But even her face was a sight to behold. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had some kind of war paint on them, but only just barely outlined. They seemed bluer than usual, and her lashes were so long. Everything about her seemed to scream at him, and he couldn’t believe that in the midst of everything going on, he was somehow turned on by this sick display of objectification that Tygon was forcing her to go through.

 

He tried to swallow back all the wild emotions swirling through him, instead looping one arm securely around her stomach as she suddenly swayed.

 

“Bel’my?” she slurred, and he realized there was something wrong here.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Why are you spinning?” she asked, a look of concentration coming over her features. “Hey!”

 

“What?”

 

“Your sunburn is fading to tan… I like it!”

 

Nothing she was saying was making any sense whatsoever. There were only two things that he’d seen make people act this way. One was if someone had a fever and the other was…

 

“Clarke, are you… drunk?”

 

“Dunno. Had to drink wine ‘cause my tongue was on fire.” As if to accentuate this, she stuck her tongue out. He noticed it was purple, probably from the drink, but it instantly drew his gaze to her mouth. She left it out for only a second, though, and then suddenly she was wetting her lips. Bellamy couldn’t tear his eyes away. “So thirsty.”

 

Fuck. So Clarke was wasted, and he had limited time with her.

 

“Here. Sit on the bed.” He steered her towards the pallet in the middle of the room, and she nearly plopped backwards onto it. He searched for water, finding some in a pitcher nearby. He poured her a cup, handing it to her, and she drank greedily. “You’re gonna have one Hell of a hangover.”

 

“Ugh,” she groaned, and suddenly she was tugging at the hem of her dress.

 

Warning bells lit up in Bellamy’s mind. “What are you doing?”

 

“This dress. It’s too tight, too hot. I have to get it off.”

 

Bellamy turned around, but after a minute or so of her struggling, he saw that she hadn’t made any progress. He choked out a small laugh, and she glared up at him. “You wouldn’t think this was so funny if it were _you_ in the dress.”

 

“I might,” he said, truthfully. “But then I’m pretty sure Tygon wouldn’t make me wear that.”

 

“I don’t know,” Clarke slurred, tone light. “It would show off your shapely ass pretty well.”

 

And then suddenly she gasped, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just said. Part of Bellamy wanted to laugh, but he was too surprised to do anything other than stare at her slack-jawed. “Clarke… Have you been ogling my butt?”

 

“What? No! S’not what I meant!”

 

“Because it sure sounded like that.”

 

“I’m drunk! I have no filter.”

 

“Which probably means you’re telling the truth.”

 

“Fine,” she said, eyes daring him to challenge her. She moved as if to bend, like she was trying to bow, but she began to tip and Bellamy had to steady her again. She let out a little hiccup, her slurring completely belying the dramatics. “It’s true. You have a great butt, Bellamy. I am not ashamed to tell you that.” She paused, as if thinking about it for another second. “At least when I’m drunk.”

 

And then he couldn’t help it. He laughed, harder than he’d laughed in a while, and it occurred to him that this was absolutely absurd. They were in a life and death situation, with Clarke literally stuck in the most sultry dress he’d ever seen, and she was drunk, but for some reason the idea of her checking out his butt was too much.

 

She broke into a gorgeous smile, standing up. “Wow.”

 

His laughter began to calm, and he steadied her as she wobbled once more. “What?”

 

“It’s just… I’ve never heard you laugh like that before.”

 

And just like that, all his walls went back up. What were they doing? They didn’t have time for this. They had people to save. Clarke was one of those people. “How’d you get caught, Clarke?”

 

She was staring at him with a glazed look in her eyes, as if it was taking a minute to decipher what he was really asking. “They were going to catch us. Had to distract so Octavia and Nyko could get away.”

 

A small weight was lifted off of Bellamy’s shoulders at hearing his little sister had escaped, but that left a bigger problem here. Clarke had now tried to escape twice. They’d be watching her extremely closely.

 

A look of pain suddenly came over Clarke’s face, and she fell back onto the bed.

 

“What is it?”

 

She lifted up one of her feet, not too high, but Bellamy knelt down to inspect her foot. It was covered in bandages, but there was blood coming through them. He gently peeled one off, looking underneath. There were so many small cuts. “Tygon did this,” he said, voice dead.

 

Clarke nodded, her body swaying with the movement. “So I couldn’t run. But I know really it’s ‘cause he doesn’t wanna mark up my face or body.”

 

Bellamy was so angry. He didn’t think he’d ever been this mad, and he was surprised his whole body wasn’t quivering in fury. “We have to get you out of here.”

 

Clarke put her hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her face. Suddenly her hand slid along his shoulder and up his neck, into the back of his hair. “I love your hair,” she whispered. “It’s unruly. It can’t be tamed. Just like you.”

 

“Clarke.” His voice was gruff. A small part of him rejoiced at words like these, but the slur in her voice brought him back to reality. Who knew what she’d had. He himself knew the effects of alcohol, and especially any that also doubled as aphrodisiacs. She couldn’t possibly be herself right now. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

 

She tilted her head to the side, and her hair fell away from her neck. There, on the side of her neck, was a large bruise… A hickey.

 

He reached out, fingers gentle as he touched her skin. She shivered. “What’s this?”

 

Clarke put her hand on top of his, so both of them were touching her neck. “What?”

 

“This… bruise. It wasn’t here last night.”

 

The intensity in his voice was almost frightening, but it was lost on Clarke, drunk as she was. Instead, her brow furrowed in thought as she tried to remember how her neck could have been bruised. Her eyes suddenly lit up in recognition. “Tygon. He kissed me.”

 

Bellamy’s fists closed together, fingernails digging into his skin, and the darkest look Clarke had ever seen crossed Bellamy’s face. “I’ll kill him.”

 

“I need to get this dress off. It’s too hot. I’m dying,” she stated heatedly. “Help me.”

 

When he made no move, she began to panic. “I can’t get it off myself! Too tight! Can’t breathe! Pleeeease, Bellamy, please!”

 

How could he not help after that display? Bellamy knelt as she sat on the bed. His hands grabbed the hem. It was so short. “Lift your arms up.”

 

She did so, and he helped her shimmy the dress away from her thighs. He tried to look only at her face as he peeled the dress up, but he ran into a problem when he felt how extremely hard to maneuver it was. She was right about being hot, and as a result the tight leather did not want to come off.

 

Clarke began to freak out a bit. “Get it off!”

 

Her frantic voice was beginning to make him panic a bit. He tried to remain calm, though her dread alarmed him. “Okay, bear with me for a second,” he said, voice gruff.

 

He yanked at it again, and it got stuck around her face, her arms still raised. She let out a small squawk, and Bellamy glanced down…

 

And all of a sudden he was swallowing hard as he gave her the once-over. She only had panties on, but the rest of her body was completely bare without the dress. He didn’t typically have time to dwell on this type of thing lately, considering he was pretty busy saving everyone’s asses pretty much all the time. Sure, at the beginning he’d had some fun, but all that had been put on the backburner with recent events. Now, all that pent-up sexual energy that he hadn’t even realized he’d been repressing threatened to burst out, all at once.

 

Clarke squirmed, and Bellamy’s mind shot back to the task at hand. He gave the dress a sharp yank, and finally it began to give. He took even breaths, trying to calm his erratic heart, as the dress slid over her head. He threw it behind him when it was off, still looking at her in the eyes. He refused to look down again. But dammit, he wanted to so badly.

 

Clarke brought her arms down to his shoulders. They stayed like that for a second, a minute, an eternity. “Bellamy,” Clarke said.

 

“Yeah?” His throat was so dry.

 

“Kiss me,” she said, and a part of him wondered if he’d passed out when Jago had beat him, if he was fantasizing or dreaming.

 

“You’re drunk. I can’t take advantage of you.”

 

But Clarke was the type of girl who made things happen, and she didn’t ask again before she leaned forward, closing the distance between their lips. He didn’t react at first, and she pulled her head back. But when she leaned forward, and he felt her bare breasts brush against his clothed chest, he was done for.

 

“Fuck it,” he growled, and he grabbed the back of her head, their lips colliding. If this was a dream, then he was sure as hell okay with it.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy had been gone for too long. Jago had grabbed him, and Raven hadn’t seen what had transpired, but she knew that it probably wasn’t good. She crept along the pen, cursing her stupid leg, cursing her rotten luck. It was like someone up there had it in for her. Life could never just be simple, could it?

 

She’d finally been starting to get over Finn, over the baggage of her past. She was useful down here, even with her leg injury, and though the Mount Weather rescue had taken its toll on everyone, she’d come out of it, only a little worse for the wear. She’d gone through a lot, but the whole ordeal had made her realize the extent of her own strength. And she’d had Wick.

 

That had snuck up on her. The idiot had always been there, at first like an annoying rival, prattling on about the merits of being an engineer versus being a mechanic, but something had changed when they’d gotten to the ground. He’d built her a leg brace. He’d helped her see that she was still useful, still strong. He’d been the yin to her yang, and though at first Raven couldn’t see what he was getting out of it, she’d come to realize something.

 

Kyle Wick legitimately cared about her.

 

But Raven was broken. Her leg was broken. Her heart was broken. She didn’t know if she could reciprocate his feelings, but he seemed willing to go all in anyways.

 

Too bad she still hadn’t really given him a straightforward answer. That was on the to-do list, obviously. Only right now, it took a back seat to getting out of here.

 

Raven didn’t see anyone she knew around here, so she’d have to go this on her own. She didn’t know which Grounders she could trust to help her. She needed to get back to her other pen. At least Monty and Miller had been there.

 

Both of them could help. Miller was especially good at breaking into places. He’d been put into the Sky Box for thieving. And Monty was kind of a jack of all trades. He’d been recruited to engineering, like Wick, and he’d be helpful as well. Especially because Raven still believed she’d nearly stumbled into some big secret in the first building she’d walked into. That bastard Jago had been extremely irked with where her escape had led her, and the guards seemed apprehensive. There was more going on here than met the eye.

 

Raven gathered the tools she’d picked up along the way, and she made her way to a secluded corner of the pen. After only a few minutes, she’d managed to break through a link of the pen enclosing, and she was able to squeeze herself out.

 

She began to skirt along the edges of the encampment, trying to get her bearings. Everything seemed to be going fine… Until she suddenly turned and found herself face-to-face with a Desert Grounder child. It was a little girl, who looked at Raven wide-eyed. Raven put her finger up to her lips, but the girl was clearly uninterested in remaining quiet.

 

She asked something in Grounder, but Raven had no idea what she was saying. _Think_ , her head screamed at her. How could she stop this babbling child?

 

She reached into her pack, trying to think of what she could use, when her hand met something soft. _The bottom of Clarke’s white dress_. Raven drew the shimmery white material out, and as soon as the little girl became aware of what Raven had, her eyes grew wide.

 

“Want this?” Raven whispered, and the girl nodded emphatically. “You can’t tell anyone I’m here.”

 

The little girl clearly couldn’t understand English, but with Raven’s _shh_ gesture, she understood the meaning. She held out her hand, and Raven handed her the white material. She giggled in glee, wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl.

 

Raven nearly smiled as the girl ran away, clearly pleased with herself, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Instead, she continued to sneak around. She’d just managed to reach the empty market when sudden footsteps had her throwing herself under a table.

 

She grabbed a table cloth, trying to throw it over herself as much as possible, when she heard a voice that made her hold her breath. “My apologies again, _Heda_ , but it seems the Wastelanders led some restless pilgrim to our boundaries. A drone dispersed of him, but the Wastelanders are getting bolder.”

 

_Jago_. Raven listened, eavesdropping as hard as she could.

 

“We need to take care of them once and for all. Without the drones, we have no fallback,” Jago said, and he cut off suddenly.

 

“That will not happen.” Raven guessed this was Tygon. His tone was commanding and deep, as if he were used to being charge and getting his way. Part of her already hated him for capturing their people, for what he’d done to Clarke, but she could tell from those four words alone how he must inspire his people. He was so confident, so collected. So bone-chillingly poised.

 

“The Wastelanders left, but the drone is reading two bodies nearby. From our side.”

 

There was a pause in the conversation. “We have no patrols in that area?”

 

“None, _Heda_.”

 

“Have we counted the number of prisoners?”

 

“Not since arrival, but we can do so in the morning.”

 

Fuck. Raven could guess what was going on. Those bodies probably did belong to escaped prisoners, but why only two? Three had left here. She worried that something had happened, but there was no time to dwell on it.

 

“Good. And we will send patrols out as well. First, we must go to the Command Chambers.”

 

“Yes, _Heda_.”

 

They continued talking, but their voices floated off into the distance. Raven didn’t know what was going down in the Command Chambers, but from what she’d heard, no way would Octavia and Clarke be able to get past those drones. She had to find a way to shut them down.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

Bellamy was no novice to kissing. He was really no novice to anything when it came to sex. Being a cadet in the guard had made him extremely desirable aboard the Ark, and then in the year after his mother’s death and Octavia’s imprisonment, he’d had his fair share of partners to distract him from how sucky life was.

 

And then they’d come to the ground, and he was on top of the world. Literally, everyone had wanted a piece of Bellamy Blake, and he was happy to oblige. Well, everyone, that is, except for one very stubborn and pain-in-the-ass Princess.

 

Who was now writhing in ecstasy below him as he kissed her deeply, his hand drifting down from her cheek, to her neck to her breast. He squeezed, and she moaned into his mouth. He smiled. He liked that.

 

He continued to tease her, and she began to whimper. She broke the kiss first, grabbing at his shirt. He sat up, hurriedly taking it off and throwing it next to them on the bed. His hand continued down, playing with the hem of the small panties she was wearing. They were the only article of clothing she had on, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough of touching her. It was addictive.

 

She began fumbling with his pants, trying to incite him to pull them down and off, but he was too busy paying close attention to her neck. He kissed up the column of skin, wondering how he’d never noticed how creamy her skin was before. When had Clarke grown so bewitching? Part of him thought he must have always known it, but here, now, nothing he’d imagined could ever compare to this feeling.

 

The hand not toying with her underwear reached up, grabbing hold of one of her smaller hands. He laced their fingers together, and suddenly she gasped. But this was different. It wasn’t something passionate, but more a groan of pain. He pulled back, looking her over, and he realized that her hand was hurt. He unlaced their fingers and sat up, inspecting her hand.

 

She tried to pull his head back down so she could kiss him, but he resisted. He held her hand, gently, tenderly. “What happened?”

 

“What?” Her eyes were glazed, and Bellamy suddenly began to realize that he’d almost taken advantage of her. He looked down at her. She was absolutely beautiful, but if this was going to happen, it wouldn’t be this way. They would do it right.

 

“Your hand. What happened?”

 

“Oh… Punched a guard. Oh yeah! And then I slapped Tygon.” She looked up at him, still so drunk. “Think it’s broken, or sprained. Now c’mon.”

 

She pulled his head back down to her, and Bellamy began to kiss her back, but his hand still held her hand delicately. Clarke was clearly lost in their passion, and she threw her head back as she moaned. Bellamy kissed down her neck again, but he stopped at the sight of the hickey that Tygon had left on her neck. And everything came flooding back to him about what they needed to do.

 

He pushed himself off her, despite her mewling and protesting. “Clarke, pay attention. I don’t know how much time I have here.”

 

She pouted, and his stomach flipped. She just looked so irresistible. It was so hard to say no right now, and he realized that his feelings for her were even deeper than he’d realized. Maybe Raven had been right…

 

“Don’t wanna stop.”

 

“Princess.” It sounded like pleading to his own ears, but Bellamy Blake did not _plead_. “You’re injured. I have limited time, and we have to figure out a new plan.”

 

She arched her back, and Bellamy’s eyes traveled the length of her body. He realized he would never be able to have a conversation with her this way. She was just so tantalizing… He saw his shirt on the side of the bed and grabbed it. “We have to put this on you.”

 

“Whyyyy?” she whined, but Bellamy was already lifted her up, popping her head and arms through. She still looked damned sexy wearing just his shirt, which was large on her, and her underwear, but at least he could look at her now without his hands itching to be touch her.

 

She squinted up at him, pushing herself onto her elbows. “Bel’my, how did you get here ‘nyway?”

 

“Jago.” Clarke sobered a bit at the name. Bellamy continued, “He wants me to steal something.”

 

“What?”

 

“A book. Something about codes. I don’t know, but we don’t have much time. Jago let me see you as part of the deal, but I don’t know how much time we have. I think he’s acting against Tygon.”

 

“But… But Tygon is his Commander.”

 

Even though she was drunk, the wheels in her head were turning. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Ugh… Everything’s spinning.”

 

Bellamy hopped up, grabbing her more water. He watched as she drank it down. “We have to get you out of here, Clarke. He got you drunk, and if Jago hadn’t distracted him…” Bellamy took a deep breath to steady himself. “I don’t trust him with you.”

 

Clarke was staring up at him, her eyes still slightly glassy, and he poured her more water. “You need to rest, Clarke. We can’t plan anything with you in this state.”

 

She still wore his shirt, which he would need later on. His sunburn was fading, but he would be vulnerable if he were outside, and he didn’t want to get more sun poisoning. He stood and began searching through the drawers near her bed.

 

He pulled out something that was very soft pink. He’d found a silky and very slinky camisole amongst the skimpy tops and bottoms, and he figured it was meant for the sleeping. He held it out in front of him, noting how sheer it was, but it would have to do. He came back to the bed, where she was still watching him.

 

“Come here,” he said, and she sat still as he pulled his shirt off her, careful not to look down, and then snuck the camisole over her head. Her lips were puffy from their kissing, and her eyes still rimmed in that liner. She looked ethereal – so enchanting and otherworldly that it nearly broke him.

 

He ushered her to the top of her bed, where he guided her under the covers. As he began to pull away, she latched onto his arm. “Bel’my? Will you stay with me?”

 

He didn’t know how much time they had left, but Jago already knew that there was something between them. There was no more denying it, so he might as well enjoy it now, right? “Yeah, Princess, I will.”

 

Her eyes began to droop quickly, another side effect of the alcohol. It was cute. “So different, from you.”

 

He slid under the covers, and she sidled up beside him. He tried to ignore how her curves pressed against him, or how her lashes tickled his neck as they fluttered shut. “What is?”

 

“When you call me Princess…” she nearly whispered. “Used to hate it, but now… Kinda nice…”

 

And with that, she fell asleep, and Bellamy laid back as well, looking at Clarke’s sleeping form, and wondering how he had perhaps found the thing he’d never even realized he’d been looking for when he’d met her.

 

* * *

 

After Tygon and Jago had left, Raven clamored through the market, grabbing scraps and parts along the way. Her time on Earth had taught her to always be prepared, and she didn’t know what was coming her way. She had been creeping along for at least ten minutes moving at a frustratingly slow pace when she saw an area that looked vaguely familiar, and she realized she must be near the pen where she’d first woken up.

 

Which was perfect. She needed to get to Miller and Monty. Not only did she want to bust them out, but their skills would be extremely helpful in escaping. Monty was a total techie, and even though she would never admit it aloud (and especially not to Wick), engineers could be pretty useful sometimes. Miller was a skilled thief. Pretty funny considering his dad was head of the guard, but Miller had a knack for breaking and entering, and that was something that any girl on the run could use.

 

She slunk towards the building when a noise behind her had her spinning around. Too slow. Someone grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip, and she heard a deep voice rumble in Grounder speak. She looked up to see a burly Desert guard holding her, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. She swung her arm around, but his hand clamped down hard on her wrist. He forced her to the ground, and she let out a yelp of pain as she slammed down on her bad leg.

 

She managed to break one arm free, and she desperately swung at him, only to grab a handful of the cloth covering his head. She pulled it off, but he was already getting control and forcing her down. She grunted in frustration, knowing that she couldn’t draw more attention to them. She just needed to take this guy out, somehow.

 

Suddenly something _thwacked_ into the guard’s head, and he released her, wobbling. Another something barreled towards the guard, knocking him in the head, and he fell, completely knocked out. Raven scrambled to her feet, but not before grabbing one of the projectiles. It was a decent-sized pebble, and the guard already had welts where the stones had struck. “What the…?”

 

Raven glanced in the direction she’d come from and she noticed the same little girl whom she had given the cloth to earlier. The white material was draped over her shoulder, only the little girl looked much more like a warrior now. She held a slingshot in her hand, and she smiled mischievously at Raven before suddenly bringing her finger up to her lips. _Shhh_. With that, the little girl slunk off, leaving Raven alone in the darkness.

 

Raven let out a little laugh, nodding her head, before she began to make her way towards her goal: the pen holding her friends. She knew she should move the body of the guard, but he was too big, and it would take her too much time and effort. He could wake up at any time. The stones had hit him hard, but who knew how long he’d be out for? She’d have to hope that no one found him before she could break out Monty and Miller.

 

Raven hovered to the side of the building’s opening as two guards came out, laughing raucously. She snuck inside and sighed in relief as she noticed two guards on the opposite side of the pen, but no one along the wall where she was. She snuck around the edge of the enclosing, where she began to make a gap in the edge of the pen. She snuck into the fenced off area, looking for Monty and Miller.

 

“Hey!” she heard, and suddenly someone was grabbing her again.

 

“Let go,” she said, trying to break away. It was some Arker, but Raven didn’t recognize him.

 

“How’d you get in here? Get us out!”

 

Raven backed away. This man had clearly seen her break in, and he wasn’t bothering to be quiet about. “Look, buddy, I don’t know what you thought you saw –“

 

“You! I saw you sneaking in here. And you weren’t here before, so we have to get out of here!”

 

He was beginning to make a scene and they were attracting attention. “Be quiet,” Raven hissed, frantically searching for Miller or Monty.

 

“I knew an alliance with these savages would lead us down a bad path,” the man spat, and Grounders nearby began to stand and come closer.

 

“I don’t like your tone, _Skaikru_ ,” one woman said, and Raven noticed the guards on the other side begin to move towards the disturbance.

 

“It’s true. We’re all here because _your_ peace summit. How do we know your Commander isn’t just a traitorous bitch?” one of the Arkers said, and suddenly the Grounder woman flung herself at the guy.

 

Raven scurried back as the two groups began fighting, and more guards flooded into the area as they broke into the fray in the pen. Raven heard yells as they lashed at people, and she rushed back to where she’d made the hole in the enclosure. She had to get out of here; she could come back for Miller and Monty later.

 

A hand grabbed at her ankle, and Raven toppled over. She cried out as she fell, using her good leg to kick the person in the face. She hobbled as quickly as she could, but someone else snagged at her shoulder and spun her around. It was the same man who had noticed her earlier. “No way, bitch. You’re not going without me.”

 

“Let go or you’ll regret it,” Raven said, but she was hurt, and he had the jump on her.

 

“Yeah? You’ve got a lame leg and you’re clearly in pain. So what are you gonna do, huh?”

 

Someone suddenly grabbed the man, spun him around, and punched him square in the jaw. The guy fell back, and Raven looked up at her savior. “Miller!”

 

He grinned at her, helping her up. “You okay, Raven?”

 

“I’ve been better, but no time for that. We have to get out of here.”

 

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” someone said behind her, and she turned to see Monty grinning at her.

 

“Monty!” She gave him a quick hug, but they didn’t have time to dwell. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

 

“Lead the way,” Monty said, and despite her pain and exhaustion, for the first time since their capture, Raven felt hope bubbling up deep within her. Now to find Jago and Tygon and the command chambers. She had a feeling that if Octavia and Clarke had escaped, they’d need her help.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 

Clarke groaned. Her head felt heavy, and it throbbed. Her mouth was so dry, and tasted acrid, and she tried to remember what was happening. All she knew was that her head might be exploding, but she was so comfortable wherever she was. She buried her head into her pillow, but shot up when it made a noise.

 

She looked down, growing even more confused when she saw a shirtless Bellamy next to her. What the heck was going on?!

 

Before she could wonder anymore, she suddenly realized with dread that she had to throw up, and she sprung off the bed and towards the wash pan. She vomited, realizing that the last thing she remembered was dinner with Tygon, and the spicy food, and the wine… But how did Bellamy end up here?! It had to be the middle of the night, or the early morning. Was she still dreaming?

 

Her stomach turned and she suddenly found herself throwing up again, only someone was holding her hair away from her face and rubbing her back soothingly. “Let it out, Princess.”

 

When she’d finished, she took the proffered cup of water in front of her and chugged it. “Drink slowly, or else you’ll just throw up again.”

 

She set the cup down, slumping to the floor. Her head was splitting, her nausea was overwhelming, and she was so confused. “Thanks,” she said.

 

Bellamy still hadn’t stopped rubbing circles on her back, Clarke noticed, which was strange. He wasn’t a touchy-feely person at all. “Bellamy? What are you doing here?”

 

He gave her a funny look. “You don’t remember anything?”

 

She shook her head, but groaned when the motion proved too much for her. Bellamy helped her stand up, and he guided her to the bed. “I know you’ve been tipsy before, Princess, but now I know exactly what you’re like when you’re drunk.”

 

“The food… Tygon did it on purpose.”

 

A dark look passed over Bellamy’s face. “You have to be more careful around him, Clarke. If he hadn’t been called away, who knows what might have happened.”

 

“How do you know he was called away?”

 

“I guess you don’t remember anything that happened after dinner at all.” When she didn’t object to this, Bellamy sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Jago was supposed to distract Tygon so that I could have some time with you. To make sure you were okay.”

 

“Jago? What do you mean? He’s helping us?” That seemed out of line for someone so sadistic, and Clarke trusted Jago about as far as she could throw him.

 

“Not for free. I’m supposed to get some kind of book from Tygon’s chambers for him.”

 

“Why can’t Jago get it himself?” This conversation was making Clarke’s head spin again, but she was finally beginning to feel hungover rather than drunk, and she knew that they were probably on borrowed time if she’d been drunk for a few hours.

 

“He can’t read. I’m willing to bet most of them can’t, but he doesn’t know what book it is. I’m more worried about what’s inside,” Bellamy said.

 

“And why he doesn’t want Tygon to know.” Clarke looked up at Bellamy. “He might be planning something.”

 

Bellamy shrugged. It wasn’t their problem. Their problem was getting everyone out of here. The sooner, the better. “That’s their issue. Clarke, I don’t know what will happen to me, but you have to promise me that you’ll get out of here the first chance you get.” When she didn’t respond, his hands gripped her shoulders until she met his eyes. “Okay?”

 

“Bellamy… I’m not just gonna leave everyone.” Then, softer, “I wouldn’t just leave _you_.”

 

He suddenly felt extremely angry. “This is what I’m talking about, Clarke. So stupid! You’re the leader of our people, and you’re gonna have to bring them out of here. Just like you brought them home after the Mount Weather rescue. There’s obviously some fucked up shit going on around here, and if Tygon catches me stealing from him –“

 

“He can’t. He’d kill you.”

 

“Right.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment. “Do you promise?” Bellamy finally said.

 

Clarke couldn’t say what possessed her to do it, but she suddenly reached up and grabbed one of his hands in her own. He watched her, features completely unreadable. That was so like him. “Bellamy. I can’t promise you that, but I promise I’ll try to stay safe.”

 

“That’s pretty flimsy, coming from you.”

 

She threw him a false indignant look. “Rude.”

 

He smiled a bit, and Clarke felt herself leaning towards him. She looked down, noticing that her outfit was sheer and gauzy, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d call it lingerie. “Um, what am I wearing?”

 

Bellamy didn’t flush, but his gaze was heated as he looked at her. “You were wearing this insane dress.”

 

“Yeah, I remember that. It was leather.”

 

“You started freaking out. You demanded that I take it off or you would die.”

 

“Oh God.” Clarke threw her hand over her eyes. “Please tell me that was the most embarrassing thing I did.”

 

When he didn’t answer, she peeked through her fingers. “It’s not? What else did I do?” He still didn’t respond, and Clarke began to panic a little inwardly. “Bellamy!”

 

“Nothing, Clarke. You’re fine.”

 

“You wouldn’t be acting so coy if it was nothing! And I thought this situation couldn’t get any worse,” she grumbled.

 

One side of his mouth twitched up. “Let’s just say that when we’re out of here, we’re having that drink.”

 

“I am _never_ drinking again.”

 

“That’s what everyone says. But I like Drunk Clarke. She’s still assertive, but without all her normal inhibitions.”

 

“Oh Goddd,” Clarke groaned. “See, you can’t say something like that and then not elaborate.”

 

Clarke looked up and realized that Bellamy was suddenly much closer to her. Her mouth ran dry all over again, and she knew it wasn’t because of the hangover. “Do you want me to show you?” he said lowly, and she could feel his breath on her lips.

 

But the spell was broken when the door _banged_ open, and Clarke jumped away from Bellamy, a searing pain shooting through her head at the sudden movement. Jago stepped in, flanked by two guards, and Clarke pressed herself behind Bellamy as he leered at her and the sheer nightgown she was wearing.

 

“Well, well, _Gona_ , looks like you’ve had fun while I was gone.” Bellamy stood, planting himself firmly in front of Clarke, but he said nothing as Jago stalked into the room. “Pity my _Heda_ has taken such interest in this one. She’d look so grand in my chambers.”

 

“That will never happen,” Clarke said, and Bellamy pushed her further behind him.

 

Jago noticed the ruffled bed and the hickey on Clarke’s neck. “Don’t act so prudish, _Fisa_. Seems like you were giving out favors this night.”

 

The two guards grabbed Bellamy, hauling him towards the door. “Remember what I said, Clarke!” Bellamy called to her, and she nodded. She had no intention of running away and leaving him behind, but she didn’t want it to weigh on his mind.

 

She turned to Jago, who was observing her. “Tygon won’t notice if I have a little fun,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

 

“Try it,” she seethed, “And I’ll tell him you’re attempting some sort of coup.”

 

“And who will he believe, little girl? You, or his Second?”

 

“Why would I lie? Especially when I know you’re after a certain book, for some unknown reason.”

 

Jago’s eyes narrowed. “If you tell him anything, I will make sure your warrior never sees the light of day again. But he won’t go quietly. He’ll go with extreme pain, and it will be all your fault.” When Clarke didn’t respond, he smiled nastily at her. “Do we have an understanding?”

 

She didn’t respond, but Jago had gotten his point across. If she told Tygon anything, then Bellamy would be the one to pay. “Now then, _Fisa_ , I suggest you rest. My _Heda_ has gone to investigate a disturbance in one of the holding pens, but who knows what sort of mood he’ll be in when he returns. Perhaps he’ll send for you.” Jago gave her one last glance as he left the room. “I would.”

 

And as he left the room after the Bellamy and the guards, Clarke hugged her arms around her body, wondering how they were going to get out of this mess.

 

* * *

 

 

“Bludgeoning such a strong object won’t work,” Nyko stated, and Octavia huffed in frustration. It had been decided that Nyko would distract the drone while Octavia used her speed and small stature to sneak up on it, but they were at a loss with how best to deal with it next. Octavia wanted to believe there’d be some kind of button, but she wished she had Raven here to tell her exactly what to do. They only had a few “weapons” that they’d picked up on the run. Octavia was planning to wield a decently-sized club she’d found laying around, but Nyko had no weapons other than a small knife he had snagged during their market crossing.

 

“Maybe we can take out the cameras. Then it won’t be able to see it.” Nyko’s blank expression forced her to remember that the Tree Clan wasn’t especially well-versed with technology, despite the advancements that the Desert Tribe seemed to have made. But that set her to thinking. “How does Tygon have access to this stuff anyway?”

 

Nyko shrugged. “It is possible that it was left over from a century ago, in the Time Before.”

 

“But how did he figure it out? I mean, I think it’s probably pretty hard to get drones up and running. It’s not like there’s an instruction manual or anything like that.”

 

Again with the blank look from Nyko. Octavia moved past it. “Anyway, maybe if I take out the cameras – its way of seeing us – that would work?”

 

“Perhaps.” Nyko coughed, and Octavia licked her dry lips. They needed to do something, and quickly. A human body couldn’t survive long without water, and the dry heat of the desert, even this early in the morning, was stifling.

 

“Well, it’s the only chance we’ve got, so what do you think? You ready to try it?”

 

Nyko stared ahead. “Octavia, if this doesn’t work, you should run for it. You will make it back, and our people back at Tygon’s encampment are counting on you.”

 

“I’m not leaving you, Nyko. You’re my friend.”

 

“And as a friend, I am asking that you not forget the more important matter at hand. Getting back for reinforcements.”

 

Octavia stared at him, and she realized that Nyko didn’t think they could take down the drone. “You can’t just give up, Nyko.”

 

He nearly smiled. “You know why I believe you will succeed, Octavia of the Sky People? Because you are determined, and that makes you strong, even when the odds are stacked against you. I do not see it as giving up if it helps you succeed. Now, let’s try this.”

 

With that, Nyko began creeping forward, and Octavia shook her head, knowing she needed to ready herself. She was cheered by Nyko’s confidence, but now she just hoped that Nyko wouldn’t give up on himself before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

It was early morning, and they’d been running at a steady clip all night, stopping only for two hours to rest. Lincoln couldn’t remember the last time he’d pushed himself so hard, but he was comforted by the fact that Indra seemed to be pushing their limits just as much. She would never let anything happen to her Second.

 

Wick had done a surprisingly good job of keeping up. Lincoln had to commend the man. It was obvious that he cared deeply for someone who had been captured, and Lincoln knew it was Raven. These Sky women, he mused, were strong and defiant. They clearly knew how to capture one’s heart.

 

“The forest ends up here,” Indra called from in front of him.  

 

They darted through the tree line and stopped, Wick panting hard as the three of them looked at the vast expanse of desert before them. “The Dead Zone,” Indra breathed.

 

“Now, is it called that because no life grows here, or because we’re dead if we try to cross it?” Wick asked, and when no one responded, he huffed in mock frustration. “I kind of feel like it’s important to know what we’re getting into.”

 

The sound of a volley of bullets sounded over the next dune, and Lincoln was suddenly running towards it. “Lincoln!” Indra called, but he didn’t care. For some reason, he felt that something was about to go very wrong.

 

And as he pushed himself over the next hill, and looked down towards the sound, his stomach sank as he saw some sort of flying machine shooting at Nyko. And behind it, Octavia, ready to pounce. They were trying to take down a drone.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

In hindsight, this had to be one of the worst ideas she’d ever come up with, but Octavia tried not to dwell on it. As soon as Nyko had taken off, running towards what must have been the border of the Desert Tribe territory, a sudden _whirring_ had sounded as the drone came to life. Octavia hadn’t wasted a single second as she rushed off behind it, hoping that taking out its camera would do the trick.

 

The drone released a sudden spray of bullets at Nyko, and Octavia found herself hoping he wouldn’t be injured, but she was suddenly sprinting until she was nearly on the hovering machine. Just as she was close to it, the drone spun around, bullets spraying directly towards her, and Octavia launched herself at it. She swung her club around, and it connected with the turret just as it positioned itself for her. Bullets suddenly stopped spraying, and the drone skidded backwards.

 

Octavia didn’t give it a second to recover, though, as she ran forward, giving out a war-cry, but she couldn’t see any kind of camera. How was this thing seeing her?

 

“It’s infrared!” a voice shouted, and Octavia glanced up to see Wick running down a dune towards her. And in front of him Indra, and in front of her… Octavia’s heart seized when she saw Lincoln, and she couldn’t help smiling. He’d come for her!

 

But she didn’t have time to dwell as the drone seemed to have recorrected its turret position and suddenly aimed straight at her. An arrow suddenly glanced off the side of the drone, which didn’t do much, but a spray of shotgun bullets had the drone turning towards the incoming group.

 

How could she stop it? If the drone could track their body signatures…

 

“We need to knock it down!” Wick shouted, and Octavia remembered that he was an engineer, and that Raven trusted him, so that was good enough for her. She sprinted towards the drone, and Nyko was already there. It was focused on the new group, so when Nyko knelt down, cupping his hands in front of him, Octavia knew what to do. She ran, stepping on his palms and suddenly he launched her up in the air.

 

Nyko was strong, and Octavia small, so she shot up quickly towards the floating drone. She grabbed onto it as soon as she was close enough, and the drone instantly began zigzagging in crazy formations to try and get her off, bullets flying everywhere. Octavia thought she might puke, but she pulled herself up on top of it. The drone began to come down to Earth, burdened by her weight and unable to suspend itself much longer while focusing on firing.

 

As soon as her thighs gripped it, Octavia was suddenly bashing the thing, and it began to freefall. As they hit the sand, Octavia fell off, _hard_ , but Nyko and Indra were there to hold it down. Wick somehow had at least a wrench with him, and he was prying off some kind of sparking paneling from what Octavia could see.

 

She groaned, rolling over. Her entire body would ache after this. An arm suddenly reached around her shoulders, a large hand cradling the back of her neck, and she looked up to see Lincoln holding her. “I found you,” he whispered.

 

She responded by reaching up and grabbing the back of his neck, forcing his lips onto hers. When they finally broke away, she smiled. “I knew you would.”

 

* * *

 

 

Raven led the way, though she could tell that Miller and Monty were both ready to carry her if they moved any slower. The exertion on her injured leg was starting to get to her, and sweat beaded on her brow as she tried to ignore the pain. Where was Wick with his damn brace and smartass mouth when you needed him?

 

She led them along the path that she’d originally taken upon first leaving the pen. They took extra precautions to stay out of sight, as guards were still running to quell the disturbance in the prisoner holding area. It was clear that while the situation had been dangerous, it had created a welcome distraction.

 

“Where are we going?” Miller asked, and Raven pointed ahead, recognizing the building she’d nearly stumbled into before.

 

“Some kind of control chambers. They mentioned something about figures out in the desert, and that they were going to take a census this morning, but Octavia and Clarke managed to escape and we need to make sure they aren’t caught.”

 

“How would they know about figures in the desert?” Monty asked.

 

“Some kind of drone system where they can pick up heat signatures. If Clarke and Octavia get to the boundary and the drones are still on…”

 

Monty finished her thought. “Then they’ll be toast. So we have to turn them off.”

 

“Yep.”

 

As they neared the building, Raven saw guards standing out front. They really didn’t have any weapons, and she couldn’t fight in this condition. She looked over to Monty and Miller. “We should find a back way in.”

 

“We can take them,” Miller began, but Monty shook his head.

 

“We might draw more attention to ourselves. If there’s a back way, you’ll have to pick the lock, Miller.”

 

“Leave that to me,” the taller boy said, already on board with the plan.

 

Raven smiled. If anyone could do this, it was them.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy grunted when the guards slammed him down onto his knees. They were in Jago’s chambers, but the man had stayed behind with Clarke as Bellamy was dragged from the room. The thought made Bellamy want to struggle harder, but he knew that he couldn’t waste energy, and at least Clarke was growing steadily more sober now.

 

Jago entered, throwing Bellamy’s shirt at him. “Seems you had a good night, _Gona_. Now you better be ready to work.”

 

The guards released Bellamy, and he considered making a break for it, or at least giving Jago a piece of his mind, but he was outnumbered, and he was exhausted. This wasn’t a fight that he could win right now. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

 

Jago smirked. “That you did. Now then, it’s late, and while I would so much rather have a woman here, I suggest we both rest. Tomorrow will be a big day.”

 

With that, Jago cracked his knuckles and he was drawing back his fist before Bellamy even realized what was going on. And then everything went black.

 

When Bellamy woke up sometime later, his head was absolutely throbbing. He found that he was still in Jago’s chamber, but tied in a corner. He tried to move his bound wrists and grunted, his body sore and tired from the past few days.

 

Bellamy wondered if Clarke was all right, and if Octavia had reached reinforcements by now. He glanced around the room, seeing that it was empty, and figured that he should be grateful that Jago wasn’t here just yet. The man was sadistic, and clearly had it in for him.

 

But as if the world was trying to spite him, the door opened and the devil himself walked in. “Ah, good. You’re awake.”

 

Bellamy chose not to respond.

 

“Not so mouthy anymore, are you? Everyone has a breaking point.”

 

“If you think you’ve won, you’re way off,” Bellamy said. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

 

“Tempting,” Jago drawled, “But we have work to do.”

 

Jago pulled up a chair, sitting just out of Bellamy’s reach but close enough that he could stare down at his captive.

 

“I know for a fact that Tygon will be busy this morning. He has unfinished business with his _pet_.”

 

Bellamy nearly growled. Jago was goading him, as he was obviously referring to Clarke.

 

Jago continued. “While he is occupied, I will bring you to his chambers, where you will have only a few minutes. Find what I need, or I will ensure that your people and your lover will suffer.”

 

“What happens after that?” Bellamy worried that Jago would hurt his friends anyway once the book was in his hands, but they were running out of options at this point until Lexa and her army arrived. All he could do was stall.

 

“I haven’t decided yet, _Gona_.” Jago grinned, and his teeth gleamed. “But my advice is to not outlive your usefulness.”

 

Jago stood and walked behind Bellamy, yanking him up by the wrists bound behind his back. Bellamy winced at the rough treatment, but didn’t complain. Jago led him out of the room, and they slipped down the hallway. Bellamy considered making a commotion, but in all likelihood he would be easily subdued, bound as he was, and Jago would beat him nearly to death for his defiance.

 

They slunk through the hallways, which were strangely empty. “Where are the guards?” Bellamy asked.

 

Jago glanced sideways at him. “You observe much. I have given them assignments elsewhere.”

 

There was clearly something going on here that Tygon didn’t know about, and while Bellamy held no lost love for the man, and even itched to make him pay for what he’d done to Clarke, Jago was bad news.

 

They finally reached an ornate door, and Jago stopped them outside of it. “It is a small brown book with faded gold lettering on the cover.”

 

“What if there are multiple books like that?” Bellamy asked.

 

Jago looked miffed, but at least he wasn’t getting violent… At least, not yet. “Somewhere it should say ‘Control Codes,’ for drones and launches.”

 

Bellamy could no longer hold his tongue. “Launches? What do you need this book for anyway?”

 

And Jago was suddenly slamming him up against the wall, holding Bellamy’s throat with his hand. “And here I thought you were being so good, _Gona_. You do not have the luxury of asking questions. Get the book, or suffer the consequences. Is that clear?”

 

He released Bellamy, who coughed. “Crystal.”

 

He couldn’t help the small hint of defiance leaking into his voice, but Jago didn’t seemed bothered by it. Instead, the Desert Second took out a knife and used it to slice through Bellamy’s bindings. Bellamy flexed his wrists and rolled his aching shoulders.

 

“Do not dawdle. The more time you spend in there, the more time Tygon spends with your woman.”

 

Jago opened the door, and Bellamy stepped inside. The threat against Clarke had his heart hammering, though it could have also been the anger and adrenalin. Bellamy took in his surroundings. The room was huge, but not overly ornate like Jago’s or even Clarke’s was. It was clear that Tygon was a man of simple tastes, and that he didn’t dwell on materialistic needs.

 

But there were so many books. Bellamy found himself thinking of his mother, and how she used to read to him and Octavia when they were younger. She’d been especially fond of ancient mythology – a trait that had been passed down to both son and daughter, probably because the stories were so fantastic that they could transport you to another world.

 

As Bellamy perused the books, he found himself wishing he could take a few for when they were home. Sure, there was a lot of work to be done back at Camp Jaha, but he knew that a good book could make downtime that much better.

 

Bellamy shook his head. He was on a mission, and while he could admire Tygon’s collection as someone who appreciated good stories, he also was disgusted that the Desert Tribe apparently couldn’t read despite all of these books. What kind of leader wouldn’t educate his people? In his brief time here on Earth, he’d already learned what kind of leader he wanted to be. What kind of _person_ he wanted to be.

 

Minutes passed as Bellamy looked at only brown books, but there were still so many. What must have been half an hour went by, and still nothing about drones or launches or codes.

 

Bellamy noticed a large cabinet near the bed, and he opened it. There were mainly cloaks and other articles of clothing in there, but there was a drawer on the very side that pulled out. Bellamy opened it, hoping to find a knife. If he could get a weapon, and he could take Jago out, that would be one less threat to the people he cared about.

 

But of course he had no such luck in that area. He did, however, find that the drawer contained various letters and sketches, and beneath that, a worn, leather-bound brown book with the gold letters “LAUNCH CODES” emblazoned on the cover.

 

“Bingo,” Bellamy whispered, grabbing it.

 

As he was shutting the drawer, Bellamy picked up on sudden voices from the hallway. They were muffled, and he couldn’t hear what they were saying, but someone was clearly talking to Jago.

 

And seconds later, to Bellamy’s horror, the door knob began to turn as a strong male voice floated through the air. “Take care of the census. _Now_.”

 

Tygon was here.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Octavia didn’t know how long she stayed in Lincoln’s embrace, but she broke away from him when someone cleared their throat not once, not twice, but three times behind them. She knew she should probably be embarrassed, but that wasn’t in her personality. She turned to see Wick standing there, staring at them amused.

 

“Nice of you two to join us again,” he said, looking down at the still-sparking drone.

 

Lincoln shot Octavia a very self-satisfied smirk before he gave her a squeeze and stood up, pulling her along with him. “What is that thing?”

 

Nyko had finished guzzling water given to him by Indra, and he handed the canteen to Octavia. She took several large gulps and wondered how she was reminded how amazing water was. She felt like a new human being as she slowly closed the canteen cover again, handing it back to Nyko.

 

“This, my friends, is a drone. Pretty old, but seems to be in good condition now. I’m guessing it came from the Great War. Looks like it’s part of a consignment, and it seems to be operated remotely from what I can tell,” Wick stated as he looked into the middle of the drone, fingers deftly removing various parts.

 

Octavia felt a hand clap on her shoulder, and she looked over to see Indra giving her a small smile. “Octavia,” the older woman acknowledged, and Octavia beamed. “I am glad you are okay.”

 

“You too.”

 

“How did you escape?”

 

Octavia filled them in, mentioning the pens and how many of their people had been captured, and how they knew there was at least one other pen since Raven had come from there. She noticed Wick’s face grow grim when she mentioned the mechanic’s injury, and how she hadn’t been able to escape with them, but that at least Clarke had managed to get her away from Jago.

 

“We have to hurry,” Wick said, but Indra shook her head.

 

“No. We must report back to Lexa.”

 

Octavia didn’t want to get into an argument with Indra, especially after such a heartfelt reunion, but she agreed with Wick on this matter. “We can’t waste time. Clarke got recaptured, and Bellamy and Raven were also in a dangerous position. The more time we waste –“

 

“I _said_ ,” Indra said, cutting through Octavia’s words, “That we will report to the Commander. It is not our decision to make.”

 

Lincoln gave Octavia a quick squeeze, but she wasn’t done yet. “Indra, I know that this is Lexa’s decision, but we should split up. Send some people back to Lexa, but I also think we need to act quickly.”

 

“I’m with Octavia. You might report to Lexa, but I don’t, and I’m getting to Raven whether you’re with me or not,” Wick said, standing. He’d pulled some components of the drone out and was stashing them in his pack, though Octavia had no idea what he planned to do with them.

 

A _whirring_ noise began to pick up in the distance, but Octavia ignored it as Wick continued.

 

“Besides,” he said, “Who knows how many more of these things are out there. Here we have the perfect opportunity to sneak past a drone, whereas we might run into another when we come back.”

 

Lincoln nodded. “If Tygon controls these machines, then we are at a serious disadvantage. But Indra is right as well. We need to warn the others.”

 

“I can go back,” Nyko said. “Report to Lexa, tell her about the camp and the drones so that they have all the information they need.”

 

“Enough!” Indra shouted. “I am in charge of this group. Give me a moment to think this over.”

 

Octavia was suddenly aware that the noise in the background had picked up, and she wasn’t the only one. Lincoln had turned, his head cocked as he listened. “What’s that noise?”

 

In the distance, Octavia could see several shapes taking form on the horizon. They dotted the air, and their forms took clearer shape as they came closer.

 

“You might not have a minute,” Wick said to Indra, and he was suddenly bent down and shifting through the fallen drone again. “Fuck.” He pulled out a small, blinking part.

 

“What is that?” Octavia asked, stomach beginning to churn.

 

“Homing device. Seems like we told the other drones exactly where we were when we deactivated this guy.”

 

There were so many of them. Octavia knew they didn’t stand a chance. “Got any bright ideas, Wick?”

 

He shook his head. “Not a one.”

 

What were they going to do?

 

* * *

 

There had been a back way in, and though there was a guard in place, he had been lazy and completely unobservant when Raven, Miller, and Monty had come upon him. He now lay in a heap to the side while Miller worked the lock and Monty played look-out.

 

“C’mon, Miller,” Raven murmured, and Miller rolled his eyes.

 

“Calm down, Reyes. I’m working as fast I can here.”

 

“If Tygon controls drones, he’s going to be difficult to take down,” Monty said, gears turning.

 

“He’d be difficult anyway. From what Clarke said, sounds like he’s pretty shrewd, and totally unwilling to make an alliance.”

 

“Typical,” Miller said when the lock suddenly _clicked_. He gingerly tested the handle, and the door swung open. “Ta-da. You can thank me later.”

 

“Shut up,” Raven said, but she was smiling as she crept through the door.

 

They squeezed through a dark corridor, and Raven could see a light ahead. She knew it must be the main control chamber, and she was proven right when they got close enough to see that the light was being emitted from several monitors. It was interesting to see Grounders with this type of technology. She hadn’t seen anything like this since…

 

_Mount Weather_. A shadow passed over her face. Nobody liked to think about their time there. It had been a difficult rescue mission, and not everyone had survived. Those sickos had certainly had great technology, though, and it looked like Tygon was sitting on a whole other can of worms.

 

A lone Desert woman sat at the controls, monitoring everything on-screen. A sudden _beeping_ sounded, alerting not only the woman but also Raven, Miller, and Monty to one screen.

 

Raven nearly gasped. It was Nyko and Octavia, and it looked like one of the drones had found them. Things weren’t looking good for them, and Monty was about to leap up when Miller put a hand on his shoulder.

 

The screen shifted as the drone shuddered, and Raven realized Octavia and Nyko weren’t alone out there. Somehow Lincoln was there, and as the drone went down, she saw other figures as well. Indra, of course. And…

 

_Wick_. Wick was there. Inwardly, she rejoiced. She was no damsel in distress, but damn, it did feel good to know that she had someone willing to come after her.

 

Only, maybe he the damsel, because she was certain she was going to be the one doing the rescuing when the woman stood, obviously intent on telling Tygon and the other what was going on.

 

Raven stood from her crouch, blocking the path to the exit, and the woman stepped back, surprised. “Sorry, but I can’t let you out there,” Raven said, and the woman snarled as she lunged.

 

She had a knife, which she used to swipe at Raven, and the mechanic just barely managed to dodge. But Miller had leapt forward, and his hand gripped around the woman’s wrist. He held her hard and fast, and she dropped the knife. Monty quickly grabbed for it as it skittered across the floor.

 

Miller was having more trouble subduing her than he’d thought. She was clearly a warrior, and she managed to catch him with a hard kick to the stomach. He crumpled, winded, and Raven leapt into the fray. The woman was bigger, but Raven was willing to bet she wasn’t as scrappy. This proved to be true when they rolled, clawing at one another.

 

“Raven!” she heard, and she looked up to see Monty. He threw the knife, and it struck into a wooden post nearby. Raven grabbed it by the hilt, lunging around until she had the Desert woman pinned, knife to throat. The woman stopped moving, realizing the position she was in.

 

“Kill me, _Skaikru_ ,” she spat. “Or else know that I will kill you.”

 

Raven narrowed her eyes. “What is your name?” When the woman didn’t answer, Raven pressed harder until a small prick of blood appeared where the knife was cutting into the woman’s throat. “I _said_ , tell me your name.”

 

After a second of consideration, the woman took a deep breath. “Silke.” She pronounced it strangely, like _silk-uh_ , and she seemed to calm down as she took in Raven and the others. “It seems you all are not as weak as Tygon seemed to believe.”

 

Raven followed Silke’s eyes to the screen, where she could see Wick and the others had taken the drone down. She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, but there was still the conundrum of what to do with this woman now.

 

“We don’t go down easy. Now, what do we do with you…”

 

Raven didn’t really want to kill her. She turned to Miller who was still panting. He glared at Silke, but he looked to Raven as she addressed him. “Find rope, or some kind of restraints. We need to tie her up and gag her.”

 

Miller nodded, and in short time he’d managed to find rope. They worked together to tie Silke up, and Raven fitted a piece of cloth in her mouth so she wouldn’t shout. Silke glared, but she remained relatively compliant, perhaps knowing that she wouldn’t be harmed if she didn’t make sudden movements.

 

A loud beeping suddenly drew Raven’s attention back to the monitors as soon as they’d finished.

 

“What’s going on?” Miller asked, and Monty was already at the controls.

 

“Drones. Looks like they’re converging on Octavia’s group!” Monty said, already working at the keys.

 

“Can you stop them, Monty? Reprogram them somehow?” Raven asked, her heart thumping wildly as she saw the predicament Wick and the other were in.

 

“I don’t know,” Monty said, and Raven held her breath as the drones drew nearer.

 

* * *

 

Clarke groaned as the door swung open, and Hava called out a cheery greeting. “Good morning, Clarke!”

 

Clarke had managed to change out of the sheer gown, instead donning the first outfit she’d been put in with the white halter and pants, knowing that was perhaps the most versatile of the attire she’d been thusly presented with, but that had been the extent of her movement once the hangover had caught up with her.

 

She still felt horrible, and her worry for Bellamy did nothing but add to the pounding in her head. She couldn’t remember exactly what had transpired last night, but her heart rate picked up as flashes came back to her.

 

_His hands on her skin, everywhere. His lips on her neck._ She flushed just thinking about it.

 

“Did you have a good night with the _Heda_? You looked amazing, and he is handsome, is he not?”

 

Clarke groaned again, flinging the covers over her head. They were whipped off not a minute later by Hava, and Clarke squeezed her eyes shut. “Need more sleep, Hava.”

 

“But it’s daylight, Clarke! And I want to hear about your dinner with the _Heda_. Tell me _everything_.”

 

Clarke grimaced. “He was an absolute jerk and he got me drunk. I hate him.”

 

Hava looked astonished. “But he is so strong, and so intelligent. You’re very lucky that he’s interested in you.” She glanced to the side, looking somewhat saddened. “I wish I could be such in a position. A woman needs a strong man.”

 

Clarke sat up and put a hand on Hava’s arm. “Hava, I’m going to tell you something I know to be an absolute truth.” The girl looked at her, and Clarke smiled reassuringly. “A woman doesn’t need a strong man. She just needs to be strong herself. That goes for both you and I. Never think that you need a guy to survive.”

 

Hava gave a hesitant smile and then nodded, and Clarke felt affection for the young girl. Sure, they might have been on opposite sides here, but Hava had never been anything but kind to Clarke. It was also shocking how differently the Desert Tribe was from the Tree Clan. In Lexa’s tribe, women seemed to run things, but here Clarke had seen many more male guards than female ones.

 

Her musings were cut short when the door banged open again, and Tygon stood there, all the swagger and confidence in the world adorning his smirk. Clarke’s mouth fell into a grim line, but at least she wasn’t drunk this time.

 

“Well, _Fisa_ , how are you feeling this morning?”

 

She glared at him, choosing not to respond.

 

He chuckled. It was infuriating. “Not so good? Yes, the wine is quite strong. Though I wish we had not been interrupted.”

 

“I thought you weren’t the type to take advantage of a woman, Tygon?”

 

His eyes narrowed. “Why, Clarke, you know that I am not. I merely wish to know more about you. And in fact, I have spent much time thinking of how much we can learn from each other.”

 

He was suddenly very close, pulling her up until her body was flush against his. She scowled at his brazenness. “We will go to my chambers, as I need to change, and we will talk.”

 

He was suddenly pulling her along, Hava all but forgotten in Clarke’s room, and Clarke found herself being steered down the hallway. “I don’t want to go to your chambers,” she said, digging her heels in, and she suddenly found her world spinning as he picked her up and swung her around on his shoulder.

 

Part of her thought she would throw up. This was not ideal considering her hangover, but at least her feet wouldn’t hurt. Still, she struggled as they walked down the hall, until a sudden _SMACK_ resounded.

 

Clarke gasped at the sting on her ass. Had he just… “You spanked me!” she nearly shrieked, completely enraged by this turn of events.

 

“You deserved it,” he said lightly, and though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell that he was grinning. “Now stop struggling, or there’s more where that came from.”

 

Clarke fumed as she propped her chin up with one hand, the other on his lower back to keep herself upright so she wouldn’t swing down and be face-to-face with his butt. He hummed contentedly, which made her even angrier.

 

They rounded a corner, and Tygon’s form stilled momentarily before he moved forward again. “Jago. What are you doing here?”

 

Clarke glanced over her shoulder to where Tygon’s Second stood, leering at her. But there was something else in his demeanor. He seemed slightly anxious, as if he was hiding something. _That’s new_ , she thought, and she suddenly remember what Bellamy had told her.

 

Her stomach sank. Jago had wanted Bellamy to steal something from Tygon, and now he was here in front of his Commander’s chambers.

 

“ _Heda_. I was just about to go looking for you.”

 

“What for? Are you not supposed to be getting a census of the prisoners?”

 

“And I will, of course, but I believe you were needed in the command chambers.”

 

Tygon didn’t respond for a second. “I am busy at the moment, as you can see. I will head there later.”

 

“But, _Heda_ –“ Jago began, but Tygon interrupted.

 

“And Jago? Don’t disturb me again. It is beginning to _grate_ on my nerves.”

 

Tygon turned the handle to his room. He turned as he backed in so he could face Jago. “Take care of the census. _Now_.”

 

“Yes, _Heda_ ,” Jago said, a sharp edge in his voice.

 

Clarke breathed a small sigh out of her nose, and she looked up into Tygon’s chambers while he watched Jago depart in the hallway.

 

And then her heart stopped as she found herself meeting Bellamy’s panicked eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

Monty typed furiously at the keys to the console, but this equipment wasn’t as up-to-date as that which had been in Mount Weather. Raven hovered over his shoulder, stomach churning as she watched the hoard of drones converge on the small group in the desert.

 

“Hurry Monty!”

 

“I’m trying,” he breathed out, and it sounded panicked to Raven.

  
Behind her, Miller stood guard by Silke. “Maybe _she_ knows something,” he said, gesturing to the prisoner.

 

Raven turned around, ripped the gag out of Silke’s mouth. “How do we stop this?”

 

Silke didn’t respond, and Raven got up in her face. “I thought we decided that you valued your life.”

 

Silke had the audacity to smirk. “Why should I tell you?”

 

Just then, the door began to open. Raven stuffed the gag back into Silke’s mouth, motioning at the door to Miller. “Keep going, Monty,” she whispered.

 

“Trying,” was the curt response.

 

The door opened, and Miller readied to knock out the guard who stepped through.

 

Only no guard stepped through, and instead a small girl slipped in. _The same girl from earlier, with the slingshot_ , Raven thought, realization dawning.

 

She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, followed by the name _Vyla_ , and she noticed Silke’s reaction. _Curious_. That must have been the little girl’s name, and this woman seemed especially on edge now.

 

“What are you doing here?” Raven said, and the girl didn’t respond. Right, she didn’t speak English, and Raven didn’t speak Grounder. Great.

 

Miller readied to grab her, but Raven shook her head. The girl said something, which Raven couldn’t understand.

 

“You can’t be here,” Raven said.

 

“We should knock her out,” Miller said threateningly, and Silke began to squirm.

 

Raven suddenly had an idea. She winked at Miller and the girl, but Silke couldn’t see. “Maybe we should,” she said, tone dark.

 

Silke began to make noises, and Raven took off the gag. “Please don’t hurt her,” the Grounder woman gasped. She seemed shaken, even while the little girl herself seemed completely at ease, almost as if she knew Raven wouldn’t hurt her. “She’s my sister.”

 

“We’ll let her be, _if_ you tell us how to stop the drones.”

 

“You can’t,” Silke said, and Raven’s stomach roiled even more. “You need codes. A book, and only Tygon has access to them. Once the target’s been set, we have no way of shutting them down.”

 

Fuck. “There’s got to be some way to stop them.”

 

Silke shook her head. “Maybe in that manual.”

 

“Well haven’t you learned?! What if one of your people got caught in the crossfire?!” Raven asked, growing angry.

 

“We can’t read.”

 

What? Raven turned to Monty, panicked. “Anything?”

 

“No,” he said, voice just as frantic. “Raven… I don’t know what to do.”

 

 

Octavia stumbled, still thirsty and exhausted from their journey, and Lincoln grabbed her arm and hauled her forward. They’d started running. If Wick had no ideas, then how in the world were they supposed to fight these things? Sure, the five of them together could take one down, but an entire army of them?

 

“Make for the trees!” Indra shouted ahead.

 

Lincoln spoke between deep breaths, still pulling Octavia forward. “It wasn’t… too far…”

 

Perhaps if they could make it back to the forest, the drones would lose them? The hope was incredibly slim.

 

Nyko cried out as an arrow suddenly sunk into his calf. He went straight down.

 

“Nyko!” Octavia cried, drawing to halt even as Lincoln tried to bring her forward. She rushed back to him. “Who was it?”

 

Another arrow sunk into the sand beside them, and Indra looked up, teeth bared. “Wastelanders!”

 

“Leave me!” Nyko shouted, but he was ignored. None of them would leave him behind.

 

“We have to back up, out of their shooting distance,” Octavia said, trying to drag Nyko. Lincoln and Wick stepped in, bringing him back to where they’d just run from, closer to the drones but out of the Wastelanders’ arrow range.

 

“They’re blocking our path,” Lincoln said, voice grim.

 

“Wick! Come in, Wick, you stupid blockhead!” something emanated from Wick’s pocket. He looked as startled as everyone else, and he pulled out something he had taken from the drone: the transmitter.

 

“Raven?” he asked, and everyone heard a short huff of laughter through it.

 

“Thank God. You guys have to get out of there. There’s a squad of drones heading your way.”

 

“Late to the party as usual, Reyes. We see ‘em, but we can’t run.”

 

“Why the fuck not?”

 

Octavia grabbed the transmitter. “Raven, it’s Octavia. There’s a group of Wastelanders out here, and they’re shooting at us. Nyko is hurt.”

 

In Tygon’s encampment, Raven breathed in through her nose, trying to calm herself. She looked at Monty. “Still nothing?”

 

He shook his head. “There’s no way to stop the drones without the codes.”

 

“And those Wastelanders are cutting them off…” An idea slammed into Raven and she nearly gasped. “Monty, we don’t have to stop them. We just have to _redirect_ them.”

 

Monty’s eyes lit up. “If there’s other body heat around there, I think I can do that.”

 

Raven radioed back to the group in the desert. “We’re going to try to redirect the drones towards the Wastelanders.”

 

In the desert, Wick smiled. “Seems like sometimes mechanics do have good ideas after all.”

 

“Shut it, Kyle.”

 

At the console, Monty typed curiously. Behind him, Miller stood near Silke and the young Grounder girl, who both watched silently. Raven began to mutter under her breath. “Come on. C’mon.”

 

In the desert, Octavia was also muttering. She turned to Lincoln as she felt his hand cup her cheek. “If we die here, Octavia of the Skaikru, I want you to know that I love you,” he said.

 

She kissed him, not caring who was watching, and pulled away. “I love you too, but we’re not gonna die here.”

 

Wick watched them silently, but he wasn’t so sure he felt as confident as Octavia. In another twenty seconds the drones would be within shooting range, and they’d stand no chance now, especially with Nyko injured as he was.

 

The _whirring_ suddenly changed as the drones veered sharply to the left, heading towards the group of Wastelanders. Octavia watched enthralled as the army of drones set upon the men in the distance, who shot arrows in vain.

 

Back in the Desert Tribe’s encampment, Raven hopped on the radio. “Wick, what’s happening?”

 

“It worked… The Wastelanders are getting massacred.” He didn’t sound too thrilled about that, though Raven was sure he was grateful that it wasn’t them instead.

 

Raven clapped a hand on Monty’s shoulder. “You did it, Monty.”

 

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “If I never see another computer console again, I might be okay with it.”

 

Behind them, Silke watched with wide eyes, giving away her surprise for the first time. “Who _are_ you people?”

 

Raven turned, giving her a half-smile. “We’re the good guys, and we’re gonna save the day.”

 

* * *

 

Time had stilled. As Tygon was still watching Jago walk down the hall, she was slung over his shoulder like a sack of laundry, and she thought her eyes might pop out of her head if she kept staring. But there was Bellamy, holding a book, looking equally shocked, and completely frozen.

 

“There. Now hopefully we won’t have any more interruptions, _Fisa_ ,” Tygon chuckled as he lightly slapped her ass again, this time in a more playful manner.

 

If her lack of response at the gesture alarmed him, he didn’t show it, but it certainly elicited a response from Bellamy. His eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, and he looked like he was about to charge at Tygon here and now. Clarke shook her head, trying to calm him down.

 

_Please_ , her mind screamed at him, imploring him to remain calm. And as her movement drew his eyes to hers, surprisingly, he was calm. He seemed to grasp the urgency of the situation, and he began to swiftly move towards the large standing cabinet near the bed.

 

He quickly slid in, cracking it closed as Tygon turned, walked into the room, and slammed the door. He brought her to the bed, tossing her lightly down as she landed with a _whump_. The bed bounced beneath her, and she looked up at him, heart still pounding at the close call.

 

“Panther got your tongue, my wildcat,” he chided, and Clarke seemed to come back to herself.

 

She glared up at him. “You have a lot of nerve,” she ground out, hand reaching to rub the spot that he’d spanked.

 

He chuckled again, but it lasted only a second before he was suddenly hovering over her as she leaned back on the bed. His body was so big, nearly completely covering hers, and she shrank back. One of his hands slipped around her waist, dragging her closer, and she almost gulped when he ground his body against hers.

 

“Disobedience is unbecoming in a mate, Clarke. But not to worry. I will teach you everything that you need to know.” He grinned, his teeth gleaming. “And when the time comes, you will be _perfect_.”

 

_That time will never come_ , she thought, but instead she said, “Why have you brought me here?”

 

“Ah, yes.”

 

He let her go, hand leaving her waist, body leaving hers, as he stood from the bed….

 

And walked over to the cabinet. “I have something to show you.”

 

Clarke’s heart began to pound erratically as she realized he was going to discover Bellamy when he opened that cabinet. She had to do something.

 

“Tygon!” she called.

 

He turned, surprised ts the breathy quality of her voice, and she hoped it came on as alluring rather than anxious. She stood up, trying her best to saunter on her wounded feet, until she was quite close to him. One of her hands reached down to grip one of his larger ones, and she interlaced their fingers, trying to tug him away from the cabinet.

 

“Come back over here.”

 

His eyes narrowed, looking for some kind of trick. “And I will, _Fisa_ , as soon as I grab what I’m looking for.”

 

He pulled his hand from hers, turning to open the doors once again. Clarke knew she had to do something, and fast. The doors were slightly cracked, and she thought she could even make out Bellamy on the other side if she was looking hard enough. If Tygon discovered him in here…

 

_That can’t happen!_ her mind screamed, and she knew that time was running out. She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed his face with her hands, forcing his lips onto hers.

 

And as he turned, hands touching her as he deepened the kiss, she thought she heard not one but two sounds of surprise, and she knew that only one was from Tygon. _Forgive me, Bel_ , she thought as Tygon lifted her in his arms to bring her to the bed.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

Things were getting hot and heavy a little too quickly, but Clarke could hardly think as she grew more lightheaded from Tygon’s kisses. There was something insatiable there, like all the pent-up frustration he’d been feeling as leader was coming out here. Clarke thought that under different circumstances, maybe she could understand such a thing, but as it was she was trying not to lose herself to his passion knowing that Bellamy was in the closet. Hell, that was the entire reason this was happening in the first place.

 

She broke away, gasping for breath, as his hands slid down the the pane of her thigh and hiked up her leg, grinding against her hips. She let out a small _eep_ , and she kept his head pressed down as he kissed down her neck and onto her left breast. She looked straight at the closet, where she knew Bellamy would be watching. She could only guess what he was feeling, but she flicked her eyes towards the door, hoping to convey that this was his one shot.

 

Slowly, the cabinet door slid open, and Bellamy stepped out, a book in his hand. He looked positively _murderous_ , and if Clarke hadn’t have known him better, she might have been afraid. But she did know better, and Clarke Griffin’s only fear was the possibility of harm coming to her people, of which Bellamy Blake was one. And though she knew he was upset, because even behind the hard look in his eyes was a small sheen of betrayal and hurt, she also knew that his survival was more important than his feelings.

 

And they were more important than hers too.

 

She pressed Tygon’s face deeper into her chest as he gave her another hickey, and Bellamy was silently but quickly moving towards the door. Before he escaped completely, he shot her one final glance, and Clarke knew it was a promise. With that, he slid out.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy tried to calm the pounding of his heart as he left the room. Blood roared in his ears, and every part of him shouted that he needed to go back in there and save Clarke.

 

A darker part of him, though, brought up the whispers lurking in the back of his mind. _She started that. She wants him. I mean nothing to her._

 

Bellamy shook his head. He knew that wasn’t true; Hell, in the past few days, he knew that Clarke surely was at the very least attracted to him, as he’d seen when she was drunk. He also knew that she depended on him, and that they were great as co-leaders. But there was so much more, now. Sometimes, in extreme survival situations, emotions increased tenfold, becoming volatile and wild, and while Bellamy wasn’t sure if that was what had happened to the two of them lately, he knew that there was no fighting it now.

 

Bellamy Blake knew he’d fallen Clarke Griffin. Now if only the two of them could get out of here alive, maybe he’d actually tell her.

 

He rounded a corner, and two bodies suddenly pressed him against the wall. Bellamy found himself pinned by two Desert guards, and in front of him Jago stood, teeth bared as the man gave him a nasty smirk.

 

“Well, _Gona_ , I have to admit that you had me worried. I thought Tygon would certainly flay you alive.”

 

Jago grabbed the book before turning his attention back to Bellamy. “He certainly would have if he had known you were there. He’d finally brought his prized possession to his chambers.” At Bellamy’s dark look, he laughed. “She certainly looked ready for the taking, did she not?”

 

Bellamy suddenly reared to his left, headbutting one of the guards holding him. The surprise gave him enough leverage to pull his other arm free, and he lunged for Jago. But the Desert Second-in-command wasn’t to be taken lightly, and the man snarled as Bellamy leapt at him. They wrestled for only a minute before Jago had Bellamy pinned, and he rained punches down. The other two guards had scrambled up, and they were there to assist Jago as Bellamy still struggled.

 

Breathing hard, Bellamy was angry at himself for letting Jago’s words get to him, but they’d brought up his own inner demons. Jealousy was an ugly thing, and he tried to tamp it down as best he could.

 

Jago grinned, a bruise already beginning to show on his face where Bellamy had landed a solid blow. “You continue to amuse. Perhaps when this is all over, I will find more uses for you.”

 

Jago leafed through the book, frowning. Bellamy scowled. “Thought you couldn’t read that anyway.”

 

“Your part of the deal isn’t done yet,” the Desert Second stated, ordering the guards to drag Bellamy behind him as he began walking. “Now we go to the Command Chamber.”

 

* * *

 

Silke watched with skepticism as Miller and Monty high-fived. In light of everything that had happened, the two boys seemed cheered, and Raven could understand why. Finally, a victory. She thought back to the Mount Weather rescue. Those had also been dark times, where any small thing was enough to grab onto that last shred of hope.

 

Raven picked up the radio. “Wick.”

 

Immediately, his voice came through the intercom. “Hey, Wrench Monkey.”

 

The corners of Raven’s mouth turned up. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed him until she’d almost seen him annihilated before her eyes. “You guys all right?”

 

“Oh, we’re just peachy. Though I can safely say I’m done with watching the PDA over here. Who knew Lincoln was such a big softie?”

 

Raven smiled again as she heard Octavia protest that this was _not_ PDA in the background.

 

“Anyway, you doing okay?”

 

Raven told him about her leg, but that she’d managed to get Miller and Monty out as well. “How did you guys find Octavia?” she asked.

 

Wick explained that different groups of Grounders and Arkers had come out to search for Tygon’s Desert encampment, and that they’d just happened to come along Nyko and Octavia when they were taking on the first drone.

 

“We have to warn them,” Wick stated, voice low. “If other teams of ours come up against the drones, they might not be able to take them down.”

 

Raven agreed. “There’s apparently some launch code book here. Maybe Miller, Monty, and I can find it.”

 

There was a pause, then, “Raven, I don’t want you looking for it.”

 

“Why not?” A part of Raven flared up in anger. She never wanted to be told she couldn’t do something, but she softened when Wick continued.

 

“You’re already hurt, and from what it sounds like, these Desert Grounders aren’t kidding around. I want you to stay put.”

 

“Just because you tell me to do something doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it.”

 

She could almost hear the grim smile in his voice. “Oh, don’t I know it. But we might need you there anyway. We need to get word to Lexa, and then we will come back.”

 

Raven suddenly looked at the display, noting as Indra gave orders to Lincoln and Octavia. “Hey Wick, where’s Clarke?”

 

There was a pause, and suddenly Octavia’s voice was on the radio, sounding urgent. “Raven, they got her.”

 

“Who?”

 

“ _Tygon_. She never made it out of camp.”

 

Raven felt dread grow in the pit of her stomach again. It was like they couldn’t catch a break. “We have to save her. I mean, who even knows what could have happened to her by now…”

 

Raven trailed off. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?! And now Jago had taken Bellamy too…

 

Wick was suddenly back on the radio. “Raven, don’t do anything stupid. Look, we’re going to send Nyko and Indra back to find Lexa, and Lincoln, Octavia, and I are coming back for you.”

 

An alarm suddenly began _beeping_ insistently, and Raven looked back at Silke, whose eyes were narrowed. “What’s that?”

 

Through the radio, Wick sounded almost anxious. “What’s happening?”

 

“I don’t know. We have to go. Keep that part of the drone’s radio on you, Wick.”

 

“Will do. And Raven?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Be careful.”

 

Raven wanted to say more, the but the alarm’s consistent beeping was starting to unnerve her. She turned to Silke again, and she instantly knew something was wrong.

 

“Wastelanders,” Silke spat. “You must untie me, now.”

 

“Fat chance,” Miller said, but he looked at the screens apprehensively.

 

“You must,” Silke insisted. “That means they are somehow inside our border.”

 

“How’s that possible?” Raven asked. “I thought the drones maintained the perimeter.”

 

Silke shook her head. “They do. It should not be possible. But they are ruthless outlaws who care nothing for the innocent, and they cannot be allowed near here. _Please_ , I must inform Tygon.”

 

A sudden _banging_ sounded on the door. “Koto! Why is this locked?”

 

Miller and Monty waited, looking to Raven. Raven turned to Silke. “Who is Koto?”

 

“I took his shift. He is usually the one here at this time.”

 

Another deeper voice accompanied the banging. “Koto. Open up, _now_.”

 

A shiver ran up Raven’s spine. She knew that voice. Apparently Silke had the same thought, as she very nearly spat out, “Jago.”

 

Silke looked up at Raven. “I know you have no reason to trust me, _Skaikru_ , but there is something very wrong here, and I have the feeling that if they find us like this, we will all die.”

 

Silke looked over to Vyla, who patiently sat in the corner, watching the proceedings. “I promise to aid you, but I cannot let my sister die this way.”

 

More banging sounded on the door, and Raven knew they didn’t have much time.

 

* * *

 

Wick stared at the radio in his hands, and then at the fallen drone. Whatever was happening with Raven worried him, but there wasn’t anything he could do from here. He turned to where Indra and Nyko were readying to leave.

 

Wick gave Octavia a side glance. “Octavia should go as well. She’s been through a lot.”

 

Octavia literally burst out laughing, and Wick thought she might be a little bit insane. “ _Been through a lot_?! Welcome to Earth, bud. We’ve all been through a lot. I spent the first sixteen years of my life living under a floor. I’ve pretty much been going through a lot since I was born.”

 

Lincoln was much calmer, but Wick noted how his hand tightened around Octavia’s waist. “Octavia goes where I go.”

 

“Yeah, and we go where my friends and brother are,” the girl haughtily stated.

 

“We will inform Lexa about the drones,” Indra drawled, cutting through the bullshit. “You will scope out the camp, but you will not engage.”

 

Lincoln and Octavia nodded, and suddenly Indra was speaking rapidly in Grounder tongue to Nyko. The two of them set off, but not before nodding back to them. “May we meet again,” Nyko said, and then they were racing off.

 

Wick looked at Lincoln and Octavia. “You guys might take orders from her, but if Raven’s in trouble, I’m definitely going to engage,” Wick said, fully expecting them to fight him on the matter.

 

But Octavia just grinned. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

 

And as she began to laugh again, Wick decided that yes, she was _definitely_ insane.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

As soon as Bellamy was out of the room, Clarke outwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, Tygon took it as a sigh of content and pleasure, and his hands grew bolder and more invasive as they slipped under her top and she felt his coarse hands on her body.

 

Clarke bucked, trying to get him off, but he seemed to misinterpret this too as he suddenly moved to kiss her mouth again and then ground harshly against her hips. She bit his tongue when it snaked into her mouth, and he reared up, grinning down at her. “Careful, _Fisa_ , or I might think you want it _rough_.”

 

She began to struggle in earnest. “Get off of me,” she panted.

 

His brow furrowed in confusion, probably from her shift in mood. “Moodiness doesn’t suit you, Clarke.”

 

She locked eyes with him, both of them flushed and breathing hard, and she thought how in another place, at another time, perhaps she would have found him enticing.

 

But they weren’t at another place and another time, and she couldn’t let this go further than it already had. “I thought you said you wouldn’t have an unwilling woman in your bed.”

 

His eyes narrowed, and his hands wrapped around her wrists like iron, securing her arms in an extremely uncomfortable position above her head. “What game are you playing? I bring you in here to have a conversation, and _you_ are the one who initiates this. Careful, _Fisa_ , because acting like a tease would lead even the most honest of men astray.”

 

With that, he stood, looking at her stonily. Part of Clarke felt slightly guilty, knowing how aroused he was, and she had to shake her head. This was _Tygon_ , her enemy.

 

_But he hasn’t taken advantage of you yet_ , a voice inside her pointed out. True, but he’d also brutally ripped up her feet, and kept her prisoner against her will. Still, she supposed she was lucky to have Tygon interested in her and not just Jago, who she knew would have definitely already taken advantage of her.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and his look betrayed how confused he was.

 

“I _will_ understand you, Clarke, if it’s the last thing I do.”

 

Tygon turned, walking over to the cabinet. He suddenly looked on alert as he noticed the open door that had been closed only minutes ago. Thinking that Bellamy couldn’t have gotten far, Clarke knew she had to keep him talking.

 

“What did you want to show me?”

 

He looked again at the open cabinet, and then back at her, eyes narrowed in thought. But he suddenly threw open the other door, showing the books inside. Clarke’s interest piqued as he picked up an old, leather-bound book and brought it over to her. The cover was worn, but she could see the people on it well-enough, though they looked strangely drawn, and almost cartoonish.

 

“Harry Potter?” she asked, reading the cover.

 

Tygon smiled as she traced her fingers over the book, opening it up. “My own private collection. This was apparently quite popular before the Great War.”

 

“So… you brought me to your bedroom to show me your _library_?” Clarke didn’t fully understand what was going on.

 

“Unless you have something else you’d rather be doing in here,” he said rather drily. “I am a man, but I am also constantly thinking of my people, and ways to benefit them.”

 

Clarke could understand that, and at his words, she couldn’t help it as she dropped her hostility somewhat. Her fingers traced over the pages as her thoughts returned to the book her in hands. “Have you read it many times?”

 

Tygon’s smile dropped. “It’s difficult for me,” he said slowly, almost as if he were afraid to admit this weakness. “I do not read well.”

 

Clarke looked up at him. Perhaps since he was extremely busy as a leader, he’d never had the time to properly learn? “Could someone else read it to you?”

 

“I was hoping you would.”

 

Clarke’s mouth fell open. She couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was the idea of rough and tough Tygon asking her to read him a story, or the fact that she’d been worried less than five minutes ago that he was about to rape her. He’d imprisoned her people and he’d gotten her drunk, and he’d objectified her in an extremely offensive and almost frightening way, and yet he wanted her to read a book to him?

 

“Why haven’t you had someone else read it to you before?” Clarke asked, trying not to show her shock.

 

“My people cannot read. The art was lost to us generations ago, when the Twelve Nations broke apart, and we were exiled.”

 

Clarke set the book down, meeting Tygon’s eyes. “None of you can read?”

 

“I can, somewhat, but only very slowly, and only certain things. That is where you come in.”

 

He joined her on the bed, and Clarke flinched. Although it was slight, Tygon noticed, but he seemed to give her space. “I have seen how much you care for your people, Clarke of the _Skaikru_. I have seen your inner strength, and it does not hurt that you are exceedingly beautiful.” Clarke blushed at his words, but she didn’t shrink away. “But most of all, I think you can truly help my people if you become my matriarch. You will rule justly by my side, and you are a skilled healer. I have seen how you act around Hava, and I know that you could teach my people much.”

 

Clarke didn’t disagree with this. If the Desert Clan could be educated, it would be the first step towards a drastic life improvement. “How can you expect me to help when you’ve enslaved my people?” Clarke said, voice low.

 

Tygon’s hand found hers, and for the first time, Clarke didn’t find herself disgusted by him, but instead more curious. “I will let your people go, _Fisa_ , if you stay and commit yourself to me and my _Kru_.”

 

And for the first time, Clarke didn’t have a response for him.

 

* * *

 

The alarm still blared. Silke hadn’t had time to deal with it before they realized their time was short.

 

Raven held her breath as the door swung open, broken down as a number of Desert Tribe guards rushed in. She was hidden behind various containers in the Command Chamber, but she had a perfect view of the screens that Silke had quickly reset back to all normal settings after disabling the broken drone that had allowed them to talk to Wick and company.

 

Silke crouched directly beside Raven, her arms wrapped around Vyla, who seemed to be the calmest of all of them. Miller and Monty hid nearby, but Raven couldn’t even glance in their direction as two guards pushed in, followed by Jago. And behind him, two more guards dragged someone into the room.

 

_Bellamy_. Raven inhaled sharply. He looked rough. He stumbled a bit as they shoved him, but he seemed to be bearing the whole thing relatively stoically, and as much as Raven wanted to help, she knew that they had to keep silent.

 

Jago barked something in Grounder tongue, and Vyla suddenly leaned over, speaking quickly and quietly. “He’s talking about the Wastelanders.”

 

Raven barely dared to nod her head. She was so worried they would hear them, but she also desperately wanted to know what was going on.

 

Vyla continued. “The Wastelanders have made it through our first perimeter barrier, but there’s still a drone holding them off. He says – “

 

Vyla cut off when a loud _thud_ sounded as Bellamy was pushed to his knees. He grunted as he glared up at Jago. “Pretty sure if I break my kneecaps, I won’t be in the mood to do any reading.”

 

Jago smiled. “Ever the comedian, _Gona_. I did not figure you to be so… delicate.”

 

It was then Raven noticed that Jago was carrying a book. He seemed almost _giddy_ as he leafed through it before he bent down so that he was eye level with Bellamy. “Find the Drone Perimeter codes, and read them aloud.”

 

Raven turned to Silke. “What are they doing?”

 

Silke looked on, clearly confused and somewhat apprehensive. “I don’t know. Tygon is the only one with the codes, but it looks like Jago might…”

 

Raven waited, but she’d trailed off. “Might what?”

 

“Let the Wastelanders inside.”

 

Raven watched as they placed a mic in front of Bellamy and he cleared his throat.

 

“Why would they do that?” Raven whispered.

 

Silke shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Read,” Jago commanded. “Or I will make sure you die, your people suffer, and I bend your blond bitch over backwards in my bed night after night, even if she’s still exhausted from _Tygon_.”

 

Jago nearly spat out the last part, and Raven realized something. Jago _hated_ Tygon. He was clearly goading Bellamy, and he obviously meant Clarke, which made the mechanic bristle, but this was about more than just them. The Desert Clan Second was rebelling against the Commander.

 

“This is a coup,” Raven whispered, and Silke only nodded.

 

Bellamy glared up at Tygon. “When this is over, I will kill you.”

 

Jago’s teeth gleamed in the dark room. “I welcome you trying. Now read.”

 

Bellamy began to read the codes, the console system picking them up. The alarm suddenly cut off, and all was quiet for about two seconds.

 

And then chaos broke loose.

 

* * *

 

Octavia was tired, but she felt rejuvenated now that she had been reunited with Lincoln. Wick had a smart mouth, but he was a good guy, so she felt glad that he was with them as well. She was happy for Raven. Her friend had been through a lot, and she deserved someone awesome. And Wick, though a smartass, was definitely awesome.

 

They’d been running for a while, and it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected to follow their trail back to the camp. The wind hardly blew out here where the sun beat down so hard on the dunes of the desert, and with Lincoln’s tracking skills, finding their old footprints wasn’t too hard, even if some had disappeared.

 

It also meant that it wasn’t too hard to track the new sets of footprints that had clearly followed the same path back to camp.

 

“At least a couple dozen men,” Lincoln murmured, bent over to inspect the many tracks that had joined her old ones.

 

“Wastelanders?” Octavia asked. “But that makes no sense. Tygon apparently hates the Wastelanders.”

 

Lincoln nodded. “We all do. They are lawless, and they have no scruples. They kill without remorse.”

 

“Goody,” Wick said lightly. “Just another day on Earth that ends in a _y_.”

 

Lincoln ignored him. “There’s something internal happening in the Desert Clan’s camp. There is no way that Tygon would have approved of this.”

 

Octavia perked up. “Well, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe we can let the Wastelanders fight against the Desert Clan, and it’ll be the perfect diversion for getting our people out.”

 

Wick nodded. “That’s smart. Not quite the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but if they can do some of the work for us, it’d be pretty efficient.”

 

Lincoln stood. “Perhaps, but they have a head start on us. This group somehow managed to get past the drones well before us. We might miss the beginning of the fight.”

 

Octavia gave them a half-smirk. “Then we’ll just have to hurry so we don’t miss the party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we're caught up with fan fiction.net! I'm gonna try to post another chapter soon (maybe today?!), and hopefully a new one of the new fic CHAOS THEORY soon too. Let me know if you guys like it, and hope you all have a great day! xoxo, TATF


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

The alarm had stopped, but screams and shouts had broken loose on the outside. Silke held Vyla to her body, and she looked grim. It was pretty obvious now that Jago didn’t care that the Wastelanders had broke into the camp; he’d been the one to facilitate their entry, after all.

 

And he wasn’t done yet, it seemed. Jago turned to Bellamy, who still glared hatefully. “Now, _Gona_ , I want you to find the missile launch codes and read those aloud.”

 

There was a pause, and Raven’s breath caught before Bellamy gruffly asked, “Why do you need a missile?”

 

“Why do you _think_? If one wants to rule, the best way to do that is through fear, and by wiping out one’s enemies,” Jago drawled as if Bellamy was stupid.

 

“I won’t read those for you.”

 

Jago grabbed Bellamy by the throat. “I think I must have misheard, _Gona_. I thought you were trying to tell me _no_.”

 

More screams erupted outside, and the guards around Jago seemed to shift uncomfortably. One guard cleared his throat. “Jago, we never found Koto.”

 

Jago didn’t look up from Bellamy, his grip tightening somewhat around his captive’s neck. “We don’t need him.”

 

“But no one was in here before,” another guard piped up, and Jago finally gave them his full attention.

 

_Shit_. Raven knew they were in trouble, and meeting eyes with Silke confirmed that.

 

“Search this chamber thoroughly. You,” he said, pointing to one of the Desert soldiers. “Find Koto.”

 

The guard nodded before leaving as others began to check around the space. They only had a few minutes at the most before they were found. The chaos outside seemed to be escalating as the shouting and screaming increased. Raven’s heart pounded.

 

Jago turned back to Bellamy. “Read the codes, boy, or I’ll just kill you and find someone else.”

 

“Well, then, what are you waiting for?” Bellamy spat out, and Jago grabbed a jagged knife from his belt.

 

“Foolish.”

 

Before anyone knew what was happening, something – or some _one_ , Raven saw – suddenly slammed into Jago, who released the knife as it slid across the floor. Guards began to scramble, and Raven’s eyes grew wide as she realized that Miller had slammed into the huge Desert Second-in-Command.

 

Bellamy seemed surprised as well, but he quickly recovered, instead going after the guard nearest to him. The guard was ready, though, and had drawn a nasty-looking club. He wound up, ready to strike, but a stone sped towards his head. When it hit home, it knocked the guard slightly askance as Bellamy tackled him.

 

Raven looked to the side in shock, where Vyla had once again drawn her slingshot. Before Raven could even thank her, Silke jumped out, pushing the younger girl behind her, and joined the fray. She was fighting hand-to-hand with one of the guards, and Raven realized she needed to help Miller, who had now been pinned by Jago.

 

Jago rained punches down on Miller, whose face was already slick with blood. Raven hobbled towards the knife that had skittered across the floor, grabbing it as a guard leapt for her. But suddenly Monty was there, swinging a huge tool that Raven had used earlier to break open the pen. The tool connected with the guards head as Raven skidded across the floor, arcing the knife around until it connected with Jago’s bicep.

 

Jago leapt off Miller, letting out a roar as he ripped the knife from his arm, blood already pouring from the wound. He spun around to face Raven. “ _You_ ,” he spat out, blood leaking down his arm and over the jagged knife he once again held. “You will pay for that, but I won’t kill you. Oh, no, I have something much _better_ in mind for you.”

 

Raven took a step back before her vision was blocked by Bellamy’s back. “You’re gonna have to go through me first, Jago,” he said.

 

Raven felt a small hand take her own, and she looked down to see Vyla next to her. Silke had taken down her adversary, and she now stood near her little sister. “Why have you let our enemy in, Jago?” the tough Grounder woman asked.

 

Jago looked at her with contempt, his lip curling. “Weak, all of you, and led by that _disgrace_. I will usher in a new era.”

 

Monty and Miller had joined them, Jago’s guards all unconscious from the surprise attack. Raven smirked a bit. Who said being scrappy didn’t pay off?

 

Jago grabbed the launch codebook from where it had fallen on the floor, and behind he snagged a small console. He began to back towards the door.

 

Silke took a step forward. “Give it back, Jago. You’re outnumbered, and you can’t use that book anyway.”

 

He leered at her. “There are others who can read, and my plans won’t be so easily be quelled. As he backed towards the door, it suddenly flew open, two savage-looking men stepping through.

 

“Wastelanders,” Silke spat as the two snarled, and Jago smiled as they allowed him to pass, undeterred.

 

“May we meet again, _Gona_ ,” he mocked, inclining his head towards Bellamy before he ran off into the fray, leaving Raven and the rest to contend with this new foe.

 

* * *

 

“You could implement changes, of course, as long as I agreed with them,” Tygon said, pacing in front of the bed.

 

Clarke couldn’t believe she was even pretending to consider this insane plan of his, but a part of her understood his logic. “Women wouldn’t be subservient. It would have to be a lot more like Lexa’s Tree Clan,” Clarke stated.

 

Tygon bristled at Lexa’s name, but he nodded. “Sounds fair. We have some who will argue that it goes against tradition, but ultimately it would make us stronger and safer.”

 

His rationale and logic had always been there, but without his lecherous undertones, Clarke was finding this new Tygon to be somewhat intriguing. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still pissed, though.

 

“Everyone will be taught to read, and we will have a formal education system.”

 

He nodded, again agreeing with her.

 

“We will make a truce with the other Grounder clans.”

 

Tygon stopped his pacing. “You know not what you ask, _Fisa_.”

 

Clarke crossed her arms, flushing slightly when the movement drew his eyes to her cleavage. She pushed past it as she continued, “Then explain, Tygon. I don’t care about some decades-old quarrel with them that your pride won’t let you get past. If you really cared about your people, you would know that a truce could only help them.”

 

Quicker than she’d seem him move, Tygon was suddenly right next to her on the bed, his hands grippng her chin, albeit gently, as he looked into her eyes. “Do not presume to know what is best for my people, Clarke of the _Skaikru_. I will take your opinions into consideration, but you will not forget that _I_ am the _Heda_ here.”

 

Screams and shouts suddenly echoed through the walls. Both Tygon and Clarke were startled, and Tygon stood up on hight alert. Both of them knew these sounds weren’the result of something goo. He pulled her to her feet as well. She winced from her still-sore feet, and he noticed, choosing to swing her up into his arms, bridal style.

 

“Put me down, you brute,” Clarke said half-heartedly, but she was just as apprehensive as he was. If something was happening in camp, that meant her people could be in danger as well.

 

He instantly began walking towards the door, head cocked as he listened. “Jago should be arriving soon to brief me on whatever’s going on.”

 

But after a minute without any sign of his Second, Tygon huffed, opening the door and walking into the hallway.

 

“I can walk,” Clarke said, and surprisingly, he lightly placed her on her feet, still tugging her towards his room. “What’s going on?”

 

Tygon didn’t answer, his thoughts elsewhere, and Clarke was pulled along quickly behind him. Within minutes, they were at the entrance to her room. He opened the door, pulling her inside. Hava was waiting in there, braiding her hair in the large mirror. She gasped, bowing excitedly when Tygon and Clarke entered. “ _Heda_.”

 

He ignored her, instead pulling Clarke over to the bed. He yanked her down, but she stood as he rummaged through a nearby dresser.

 

“Tygon, _what_ is going on?” Clarke asked, annoyed by his silent treatment.

 

“I don’t know, but the hallways are suspiciously empty.”

 

Clarke knew that Tygon wasn’t stupid, and their recent conversation had given her more hope than she’d felt in days. “It’s your Second, Jago. He – “

 

“I know.”

 

She shut her mouth at his interruption. Of course he knew. He wasn’t stupid, and Jago wasn’t exactly subtle. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

“Deal with him,” Tygon said as he walked back to her, his hands holding a strange looking object with a chain attached.

 

“What’s that?” Clarke asked, backing up as he affixed the other end of the chain to the bedpost.

 

He began to walk towards her, and she turned heel to run from him but he’d already caught up to her in three easy strides. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him, and she felt something cold close around her neck. Instantly, she was clawing at the thing. It wasn’t too tight, but it felt unnatural.

 

“Is this… Did you just put a _collar_ on me?!” she yelled, and he stepped back as she swung at him. She took another step forward, but the chain pulled taut, and she found herself unable to move any further.

 

“I enjoyed our conversation, Clarke, but I can’t have you escaping while I deal with whatever this mess is. Stay put, and don’t do anything _stupid_ ,” he said, giving her a pointed look.

 

He then exited the chamber, leaving her alone with Hava.

  

* * *

 

 

The encampment was in complete turmoil when Wick, Octavia, and Lincoln arrived. Wastelanders had looted the once-majestic marketplace, and Desert civilians screamed as their enemy terrorized them.

 

“Where are the guards?” Octavia asked, and Lincoln shook his head.

 

“For them to get in here, they must have had help,” he said. “Did you notice the deactived drone we passed earlier?”

 

Wick nodded. That had been strange. Octavia had mentioned that they hadn’t seen that on the way out either, but Lincoln had postured that it was likely only to keep things from coming in, and not out; the outer perimeter defense was the one that monitored both sides, considered how much further it was from the village. _Less accidents that way_ , Wick had guessed.

 

“We need a plan. Even though the Wastelanders are dangerous, this is actually the perfect cover,” Wick said.

 

Octavia nodded. “We need to get to the pens. That’s where my brother was.”

 

Lincoln agreed. “More of my people will be there too, and they can help us fight.”

 

Wick wasn’t on board. “I’m going after Raven.”

 

“Wick – “

 

“We know she’s been in the chamber where they do the drone orders, and I told her to stay put. I’m going to find her.”

 

After a moment of silence, Lincoln finally nodded. “You find Raven, and Octavia and I will free the prisoners. Meet here directly after.”

 

Wick smiled. “Well, looks like this is goodbye for now.”

 

“Be careful, Wick,” Octavia said as she turned, heading towards the pen. Lincoln gave Wick one nod before slinking off after her.

 

Wick took a deep breath. “That’s what they always say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi friends! Sorry for the delay; life's been crazy, and I actually had to start rewatching THE 100 from the very beginning for research for the new fic Chaos Theory.
> 
> Anyway, someone nominated both this story and my longer one Entropy (which is on my fanfiction.net profile and I will eventually post over here) for the Bellarke Fanfiction Awards 2015 on Tumblr - THANK YOU! That is so so sweet and really got me writing :) If you guys want, you can go find it on tumblr (bellarkefanfictionawards on tumblr) and vote for my stories under the Canon Fanfic (Entropy) or Most Underrated (The Line Between) categories. So nice... My readers are the best!
> 
> Hopefully I'll be writing a bunch this weekend and can try to post the next chapter of this and the other story soon, but whatever the case, thanks for reading/reviewing, and have a great weekend! xoxo, TATF


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters, but I do talk about them at work probably too much!

Chapter 23

 

The two Wastelanders hadn’t been that difficult to deal with, Raven thought as she dodged a blow, but they’d been quickly followed by three more, and she and her friends weren’t faring so well this time around. Her leg was killing her, and while Silke was clearly an amazing fighter, Miller had taken quite a beating from Jago, and Bellamy wasn’t in great shape from his time here either. Monty wasn’t much of a fighter, but he was scrappy, and Vyla was good with her slingshot, but really too small to be of much help.

 

Which is how Raven found herself wondering how she was constantly getting into this type of situation. How in the world was it always life or death? _I guess that’s just life on Earth_ , she thought. _Gotta change that at some point_.

 

Silke took out another Wastelander with some kind of strange punch-kick combination, and she yelled out something in Grounder speak as he went down. Raven didn’t have time to dwell on it as a Wastelander swung at her again with a knife, and this time, she had nowhere to scramble back to. Her leg throbbed, and she gritted her teeth, but instead of feeling the bite of a knife, she heard a pained cry as Monty’s silhouette stepped in front of her, the blade embedded in his thigh.

 

Bellamy was there then, throwing the guy to the side, raining punches down on the last Wastelander left standing. After a minute, the guy’s body twitched and then went still. In seconds, a sort of quiet had settled over the room as Raven and her friends breathed heavily. Raven crawled to Monty.

 

“Monty! You didn’t have to do that,” she said, pressing her hands down where the knife had been.

 

Vyla was there, holding the white shimmery material, and she handed it to Raven. Raven tied it around Monty’s thigh tightly, creating a tourniquet as she’d seen Clarke do many times.

 

“I wanted to,” Monty said, sweat beading on his head.

 

“Let me see,” Silke said as she came up. “It’s not deep, and it missed your femoral artery, but I am sure it is quite painful.”

 

“Quite,” he replied as he laid back.

 

“Take it easy, ‘kay?” Raven said, looking to where Silke was now standing up.

 

“We have to get that console back…” Silke said once she was sure Monty would be okay.

 

Bellamy cleared his throat, looking at her sideways before he addressed Raven. “She’s right. Jago wants to launch some kind of missile, and he’s not above taking down everyone here in order to do that.”

 

“Is there some way to disable that from here?” Monty asked.

  
Silke shook her head. “No, but the fact that he can’t read could buy us some time.”

 

Bellamy huffed angrily. “Not much. He could grab any one of our people and just force them to do it.”

 

Raven thought quickly. “Where is the missile located? Maybe we could try to disable it from its resting state before it launches?”

 

“It’s deep in the Wastelands. Reaching it would be extremely difficult,” Silke said.

 

“It doesn’t sound like we have many options. But I am guessing we’ll need an engineer to help figure that out, and I don’t think Monty can travel like that.”

 

Bellamy growled. “I’ll carry him if I have to, but we have to stop Jago.”

 

“Moving him could deepen the wound, making it more lethal,” Silke stated, matter-of-fact.

 

Raven pinched the bridge of her nose. What were they going to do?

 

“Well, sounds like quite the pickle. I’m in,” a voice said behind her, and she spun around. Wick stood in the entrance, a goofy but determined smile gracing his face. “When do we leave?”

 

* * *

 

Alarms were blaring everywhere, and the Desert Tribe was having no luck expelling the Wastelanders, who seemed to not only want to loot, but also inflict pain for whoever was in their path. Lincoln grabbed Octavia as she was about to round a corner.

 

“What…?” she began, but he gave her a look and she closed her mouth. Four Wastelanders ran by, holding various goods in their arms, one pushing a beaten-up Desert Guard forward as they laughed.

 

As soon as they passed, Lincoln gripped her elbow lightly and pulled her along. “Now where are the pens?”

 

“This way.”

 

They traveled silently until they reached the large enclosure from where she and Nyko had first escaped. They crawled inside, seeing no guards at the post, but the many confused prisoners honed in on them immediately. Some called out Lincoln’s name as they approached the entryway to the pen.

 

Lincoln pulled out his knife, beginning to pick the lock to the pen as Octavia spoke to them, telling them what was going on.

 

“We can fight,” one Grounder began.

 

Another hummed in agreement, “Especially if we can gather weapons.”

 

“Who needs weapons?” one of the Tree Clan boomed, and others murmured.

 

The Ark prisoners weren’t quite as keen, instead looking to Octavia for any kind of support and encouragement.

 

“We’ll get you out of here,” she said. “Promise.”

 

Lincoln gave her a look and she leaned in. “What?”

 

“Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” With that, he managed to get through the lock, and he and Octavia were pushed aside as their people began to flood out.

 

“I don’t,” Octavia told him, nudging his arm.

 

Screams erupted from outside the enclosure, and the crowd that had rushed out suddenly began pushing back. “What’s going on?” someone from the pen yelled, and the screams grew louder before a new foe burst into the enclosure.

 

 

Panic began to ensue as the Wastelanders outside amassed, realizing the prisoners here were sitting ducks. Lincoln and Octavia pushed their way through to the front of the crowd, exiting the enclosure. She didn’t have much time to count their enemy before someone was swinging a scabbard at her, and she ducked as she engaged in combat.

 

She may not have been trained up from an early age like most of the Grounders, but Octavia felt confident in herself. Both Lincoln and Indra had taught her well, and she was determined to win as she clashed with a Wastelander. She manged to take him out, but she felt her stomach drop when she saw how outnumbered they were. Wastelanders had absolutely swarmed the Desert Clan encampment.

 

The sudden sounding of a horn gave pause to the battle, and a smile broke across Octavia’s face as she looked up one of the nearby dunes, seeing Lexa and Indra overlooking the scene. The cavalry had arrived.

 

* * *

 

Clarke’s arms were tired from pulling at the chain. Her head was sore from the hangover, and her feet still hurt from their rough treatment before. She gave a small shout of frustration as she searched for something, _anything_ , that could potentially file down the chain holding her to the bed.

 

The blaring alarms suddenly seemed to grow even louder, or maybe it was just the screams outside increasing in volume as well. Whatever was happening, it was clear from the noise that the encampment had devolved into a state of chaos, and right now, Clarke knew she was a sitting duck.

 

“Shit,” Clarke hissed as she looked at her chafed palms, red from tugging on the chain and collar. Maybe if she could lift the bed up, she could slip the chain from under it and get away? She would find a way to get rid of this collar later.

 

She tried to lift the bed, but it was too heavy. Clarke knew she wasn’t a weak girl, but her body was so tired from the past few days, and the bed weighed more than she had anticipated. She grunted as she stopped in her efforts.

 

She looked down when she felt a hand on her arm. Hava was next to her, and she moved next to the bed. She bent, grabbing at the bottom as if she were ready to lift it, and she paused to look back at Clarke.

 

“Hava. You know that by helping me lift this, you’re helping me escape.”

 

Hava nodded. “I do.”

 

Clarke shot her a smile, touched by the gesture, but she bent quickly to join Hava in readying to lift the bed. “When I get out of here, Hava, you’re welcome to come with me. Okay, ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Both women bent at the knees, pushing up. Clarke’s hopes began to rise as the pallet slowly lifted. Just another inch or two and she’d be able to slide the chain out…

 

The bed came crashing down as something – or some _one_ – yanked Hava backwards, and Clarke gasped as she spun to see Jago holding Hava by her hair. The high volume of the alarms had covered up his entrance, and Clarke cursed her own unobservance.

 

“Hello, _Clarke_ ,” Jago said, ignoring Hava as she cried out at his rough treatment. “I must say, I disapprove of most of Tygon’s choices, but I commend the collar.”

 

“Let her go,” Clarke said, gripping the chain and backing closer to the bed so it had more give. Maybe she could use it to attack him? Her options were limited.

 

“Fine. After all, it isn’t _her_ that I’m after.” Jago threw Hava to the side, and the girl slammed hard into several cabinets. Clarke hoped Hava didn’t have a concussion, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it as Jago came towards her.

 

As he neared, Clarke wrapped the chain around her knuckles. She ducked just as he reached for her, punching upwards and landing the blow under his chin. He roared when her fist connected, and immediately swung his arm around, backhanding her.

 

Clarke flew back onto the bed, landing hard on her back. She tried to catch her breath as she looked up to see Jago rubbing his jaw, glaring at her.

 

“You will pay for that, bitch.”

 

He neared the bed, and Clarke scrambled up on her elbows, trying to get away from him. She turned and reached her hand under the covers just as Jago grabbed her ankle and yanked her towards him. Her hand just abrely clasped the comb that she’d first hidden there when she’d first awoken in this room. As she was dragged closer, she lunged for Jago’s throat with the jagged teeth of the comb. He was too quick – dodging enough so that the comb points sank into his shoulder instead.

 

He roared in pain, ripping the comb out as blood began to run from the puncture, and he lifted Clarke up and slammed her into the large crystal that served as a mirror.

 

Clarke wheezed as the air left her lungs in a _whoosh_ and the crystal shattered. She could feel herself losing consciousness, and she struggled to keep her eyes open as she lay cut up and winded on the floor.

 

She vaguely heard other voices, and she turned her head as she saw several men enter the room. They didn’t look like Desert Clan Guards, but tunnel vision was beginning to set in. In the distance, a horn sounded, reminding Clarke of Lexa and her people.

 

“You have the coordinates?” someone asked.

 

Jago was still breathing heavily as he responded. “38 degree North by 77 degrees West.”

 

Clarke noticed a large piece of crystal near her, and she reached for it, her hands slippery from various small cuts.

 

She only had seconds before Jago lifted the bed easily, blood still flowing from his shoulder and down onto the chain that he grabbed. Clarke felt herself being hauled up and swung over his shoulder, and her stomach churned unpleasantly as she was literally manhandled.

 

“Grab the other girl,” she heard Jago say, “And let’s get out of here before we also face the _Trigedakru_.”

 

“We don’t need anything to slow us down,” one of the newcomers stated.

 

“They are insurance. And they do say to the victor go the spoils.”

 

“And the console?”

 

Jago rumbled as he growled, “I have it. And the book as well.”

 

Clarke felt consciousness slip away from her, and her last lucid thought was if Jago had the book, what had happened to Bellamy? And with his face in her mind, all went dark.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy ran through the Compound. Raven was outlining a plan with Wick and the Desert Tribe woman about how to get to the missile launch site, but he was worried about what had happened to Clarke. He dodged as a Wastelander came swinging at him, hardly taking the time to punch the living daylights out of the guy before he was running again.

 

The _Trigedakru_ battle horn had sounded moments before, and Bellamy heard Wastelanders whispering Lexa’s name. They feared her and her Clan’s power, so Bellamy used the distraction to run mainly unhindered towards Tygon’s main building.

 

He stopped by Tygon’s room first, fully armed and prepared to face the man if need be, but the room was empty. He continued down the hallway to Clarke’s room; but when he got there, the door was wide open. He cautiously stepped inside.

 

There had clearly been a struggle, as much of the furniture was damaged, and the large crystal mirror had been completely shattered. The bed had moved positions, and there was blood everywhere. Bellamy felt his heart race when he moved closer, and he was suddenly anxiously overturning everything in hopes of seeing the blonde he was looking for.

  
As he neared the bed, he stopped as he saw a large shard of crystal with markings on it. Someone had written numbers on it in blood. _Coordinates_ , Bellamy thought. Clarke had left him her location. Clever girl. But what had happened here?

 

“Jago’s gone,” a voice rumbled behind him, and Bellamy turned to see Tygon standing in the doorway of the room, blocking the exit. “And he took Clarke with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey friends! Sorry for the delay, but I've been super inspired with Chaos Theory (check it out on my profile) lately. Oh, and also traveling. And work. And life. Please leave thoughts/reviews if you enjoy this fic. It really inspires me :) So hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, and things are gonna really heat up from here on out. Thanks for reading! xoxo, TATF


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters, but I loved seeing their tweets about Comic-Con this weekend!

Chapter 24

 

Clarke was gone. Jago had taken her, taken the book and the console, and the Wastelanders had broken through Tygon’s defenses. Clarke was gone, and it was his fault. He didn’t get there in time.

 

So when Tygon had come in, confirming what Bellamy had dreaded the most, he didn’t think. He merely acted. And he maybe acted stupidly, because before he knew it, he was running straight at Tygon, tackling the Desert Tribe leader to the ground.

 

They rolled for a second before Bellamy landed on top, raining punches down on Tygon. But Tygon was an experienced fighter, and he had enough scars to prove it. He jabbed up, hitting Bellamy in the throat and knocking him askew. Tygon took the moment to kick out, and Bellamy was flung back against the shattered crystal.

 

Bellamy grabbed a large shard, careful to stay away from the coordinates Clarke had left. He wasn’t going down without a fight. “This is _your_ fault, Tygon,” Bellamy ground out, voice hoarse from Tygon’s recent jab. “That monster is your responsibility.”

 

Tygon was calm and almost languid as he knelt into a fighting stance, and he appraised Bellamy. “Then why do you blame yourself, _gona_? If you don’t take care of what’s precious to you, you don’t deserve it.”  

 

Bellamy was quickly losing his cool, while Tygon seemed to be as tranquil as could be. “The same could be said to you. A leader’s responsibility is to his people, his friends. To keep them safe, even when it means putting himself in danger.”

 

Flashes of Mount Weather popped in his head, but for the first time, they didn’t make him feel weak, or regretful; they made him feel strong. He’d done that for those left of the 100, his people. Bellamy stood taller, hand still gripping the shard of crystal as the memories gave him conviction. “Being a leader is making the hard choice to put them first, no matter what, and you clearly should have put down Jago a long time ago. You knew what he was, and yet you still relied on him as a Second.”

 

Bellamy saw Tygon flinch, and it made him feel better, if only a little. It meant the Desert Tribe leader was human, just like him. He too had flaws and weaknesses.

Bellamy had only a second to react as Tygon suddenly rushed towards him, grabbing another splinter of crystal from the floor, and Bellamy was ducking and slashing, trying to avoid stepping on more shards around them as they tussled.

 

Tygon kicked out, and Bellamy fell back on the bed. Tygon stabbed down, and Bellamy rolled to the side, feathers flying everywhere as the crystal dug into the pallet. Bellamy saw a bloodied and broken comb lying by the end, but he couldn’t dwell on it as the Desert Commander came at him again.

 

The door banged open, and both men jumped as they heard the shout, “That is _enough_!”

 

Lexa stood there, backed by Abby and Indra, with Lincoln, Octavia, and a several others in the hallway. Lexa looked at Tygon, eyes cold and hard. “Tygon, we have secured your village from the Wastelanders. If you do not want harm to come to your people, you will step away from Bellamy Blake right now.”

 

Tygon cursed under his breath, but he took a step back, dropping the crystal. Though he’d listened to Lexa’s words, he still stood tall, his presence just as commanding as her own. “Lexa,” he intoned.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him, but only briefly before her gaze switched to Bellamy, who was still breathing hard. “Bellamy. Drop your weapon.”

 

Bellamy’s hand gripped the shard tighter, and he felt it cutting into his palm. “Clarke’s gone, Lexa. Tygon’s Second and the Wastelanders took her – “

 

Bellamy was interrupted by Abby, who’d taken half a step forward. “What?”

 

Lexa took in the information quietly before she turned back to Tygon. “Where did he go?”

 

Tygon remained silent, and Bellamy butted in. “Clarke left coordinates for us. They must have mentioned where they were going.”

 

“It could be a ploy,” Indra began. “To lure you out, _Heda_. Make you chase after her.”

 

Bellamy wasn’t sure exactly what it was between Clarke and Lexa, but it was clear _something_ had happened between the two while he was in Mount Weather. Clarke hadn’t talked about it, but she respected Lexa, and so he had too. Lexa, in turn, seemed softer around the blonde, though how deep their friendship ran, Bellamy hadn’t known.

 

And here, listening to Indra, Bellamy knew that Lexa and Clarke had some strong connection. But that’s how Clarke was, right? She was worth fighting for. Worth dying for.

 

Abby turned to Lexa. “We have to get her back.”

 

Octavia spoke up, and Bellamy was glad to see she was all right, and with Lincoln. “Raven said that Jago also took some kind of console. Something about missiles.”

 

Both Lexa and Tygon seemed to straighten out at that. “It matters not,” Tygon began. “He doesn’t have the book with the launch codes.”

 

“He does, actually,” Bellamy said as all eyes turned to him. “That’s how he turned the perimeter drones off.”

 

“How do you know this, Bellamy?” Lexa asked.

 

“Because I’m the one who stole it for him.”

 

“Fool,” Tygon spat at him, and Bellamy felt himself gripping the crystal tightly again. “He’ll destroy us all to get what he wants.”

 

“And what _does_ he want?” Lexa intoned.

 

Tygon’s gaze didn’t waver from Bellamy as he answered her. “He wants what he’s always wanted: control.” Finally, Tygon’s eyes left Bellamy’s and sought out Lexa. “And he will not stop with the Desert Tribe. He’s somehow manipulated the Wastelanders, so he has an army of bloodthirsty exiles at his command. He’ll try to take _everything_.”

 

Lexa didn’t appear too worried, though Indra’s brow was creasing. “If he comes at us, we will destroy him.”

 

“What about the missile?” Octavia asked.

 

Lexa waved her hand. “Jago is homicidal and greedy, but he lacks foresight. Once he launches the first missile, they will be weak. It takes time to reload a missile, and they will have no defenses during that time.”

 

“But… But then he will have launched a missile,” Octavia stated slowly.

 

“Yes, but likely not at the Tree Clan. He is predictable in his sadism. He will attack this tribe first. If only just to make sure Tygon is dead,” Lexa said as her eyes remained on the Desert Commander. “Then we will strike.”

 

Bellamy couldn’t believe what she was saying. “All these people will die. We can’t just let it happen.”

 

Lexa looked him dead in the eyes. “My people are safe, and so are the _Skaikru_. We will get everyone home to the woods, and this tribe will reap what it’s sewn.”

 

Bellamy hated Tygon, but he thought about how some of the Desert Tribers had fought alongside him, even within the hour. They didn’t deserve to die. There were innocents, childen here, and maybe it was the older brother in Bellamy, but he wasn’t about to let them all perish for some stupid tribal disagreement.

 

“Is that how it is, Lexa? You just take the easy way out to save your people? How can you be so heartless? How can you not care?”

 

Lexa walked forward until she was right in front of him. Her hand came down and gripped the Shard in his hand, and he gently released as she pulled it away, dropping it to the ground. Blood oozed slowly from his cut-up palm as he met her eyes. “I do care, Bellamy. But I made this choice with my head, and not my heart.”

 

She turned, giving orders to Indra. “We will take what supplies we want. Leave the people here, but Tygon comes with us.”

 

Abby stepped in front of Lexa. “Lexa, what about Clarke? We can’t just leave her.”

 

Lexa pushed by Abby. “Clarke is strong. She will survive.”

 

Bellamy had had enough. As two _Trigedakru_ warriors came forward to take Tygon, Bellamy lashed out, punching one. Lexa paused as she heard the commotion. She turned to find Bellamy breathing hard, standing in front of Tygon.

 

“I’m going after Clarke,” Bellamy growled. “And he’s coming with me. He knows these lands, and even though I don’t like it, I think we can trust him.”

 

Bellamy met Tygon’s glance. The Desert Commander wasn’t giving anything away by his face, but he didn’t seem to be opposed to this plan.

 

Lexa seemed unimpressed. “Just the two of you expect to infiltrate a camp of Wastelanders?”

 

“It won’t be just the two of them,” Octavia said, stepping forward. Lincoln followed her.

 

Indra hissed. “Octavia. We’re going home.”

 

But Octavia walked right past her until she was standing by Bellamy in front of Tygon. “I have no home. I stand with my brother.”

 

Lincoln joined them. “Me too.”

 

Abby stepped forward as well, looking right at Lexa. “I’m in.”

 

From behind the crowd of Lexa’s warriors in the hall came another voice. “You guys aren’t going anywhere without me.”

 

Raven pushed her way through the crowd, followed by Wick and the two Desert tribe girls he’d seen them with before. One was extremely young, and she seemed impressed with Lexa’s regality, but the other was a warrior who seemed to listen to Raven. Together, they stood with Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln.

 

“Maybe instead of waiting for that missile to launch and then attacking, we try to disable the missile first, eh?” Raven said, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t believe the idiocy of those around her.

 

Lexa ignored her, looking at Silke. “Who are you?”

 

“One of the good guys,” Silke said, completely deadpan. “And we’re going to save the day.”

 

Raven threw her arm about Silke’s shoulder. The Desert Clan woman seemed a bit perturbed about it for a brief second, but she didn’t resist as Raven stared down Lexa. “So what’s it gonna be, Lexa? You gonna stand there glowering at us, or you gonna let us do our thing?”

 

Lexa’s eyes narrowed, but when she let out a small sigh, Bellamy finally smiled. They were going after Clarke.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she noticed was that when she tried to roll over, everything fucking hurt. Clarke groaned as she came to. Her body was cut up and bruised, and she was absolutely parched.

 

Oh yeah, and she was in a cage. And not like a fancy nice room that seemed like a metaphorical cage, but like, an actual cage, with bars and everything. Clarke took in her surroundings. So Jago had thrown her into this cage like some kind of animal, and wherever they were, it was much less ornate than last time. She seemed to be in a cave-like setting, but it was dark.

 

Clarke heard a sniffle, and she turned her sore head to the side, where Hava was resting in another cage. “Hava,” Clarke whispered.

 

The girl sat up, wiping her eyes. “Oh, Clarke. You’re awake.”

 

“Don’t cry, all right? It’s gonna be okay.”

 

“How do you know?” Hava asked. She was clearly terrified, and Clarke could guess why. She’d never been outside the Desert Tribe encampment, and she was young and believed in the way of things. This was all pretty overwhelming, even for someone who’d been through what Clarke had.

 

“Because it always is. But you have to be strong, Hava. Remember what I told you? A strong girl just needs herself?”

 

Hava nodded.

 

“Good. You’ll see. We’ll get out of here.” Clarke wasn’t sure how, but she was already looking around the room to see what she could come up with.

 

The door opened, and two men Clarke didn’t recognize stepped in, speaking Grounder. They quieted as Jago stepped in behind him, his smile gleaming. “Finally. You’re awake. I was beginning to wonder if I would have to wake you up myself.”

 

Clarke gripped the bars hard. “Where are we?”

 

He chuckled. “No foreplay with you, hm? We are quite a way’s away from the camp, and we’re in a series of underground caves. So do not labor under the illusion that your _Gona_ will come rescue you.”

 

Jago turned to the two Wastelanders behind him. “Take this one to my chambers.” As they moved forward, he looked Clarke dead in the eyes. “I think I’ll need to get her cleaned up.”

 

Clarke kicked out as they opened the cage, her foot connecting with one of their jaws. The other managed to grab hold of her legs, dragging her out, and she struggled. Hava was crying again in her cage, and Jago just watched the proceedings with amusement.

 

Once she was out of the cage, they wrapped her hands behind her with a rope, and Jago yanked on the chain attached to her collar, jerking her forward. “I knew I was going to like this. Come,” he said, yanking it again.

 

Clarke stumbled, but she kept up. The last thing she wanted was to get seriously injured for being stubborn. She couldn’t have that when she was trying to escape. And she was already formulating a plan. As she was dragged down the hall, she managed to shoot one last look at Hava. “I’ll be back for you,” she mouthed, and then the door closed.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own The 100 or its characters, but I miss them lots and lots.

Chapter 25:

 

Several hours had passed since they’d convinced Lexa to release Tygon to them temporarily, as he was needed on this expedition. The smug bastard couldn’t help the smirk that graced his face, knowing he was a crucial component of the mission, and it made Bellamy want to punch the Desert Commander, but now was not the time.

 

Lexa had placed Indra in charge of watching the Desert camp while she would go back to the _Trigedakru_. There was much to be done, and the Desert Grounders weren’t making things easier. The dispute between these two clans had already caused several arguments, and it had taken Silke and Raven together to break up a few fights.

 

Bellamy watched as Silke knelt down, speaking quietly to Vyla, her younger sister. As she explained she’d be going away, but that she would back, and that Vyla had to be strong in the meantime, Bellamy found himself searching out his own little sister.

 

Octavia stood in a corner with Lincoln as he tenderly held her jaw, smearing war paint on her eyes. She looked savage and terrifying. She also looked strong. Most of all, standing in Lincoln’s embrace, she looked… loved. Rather than interrupt the moment, Bellamy stepped away.

 

He almost immediately ran into Abby. “I’ve been looking for you,” she began, walking alongside him.

 

He grunted at her, and she continued. “I’m trying to figure out how many medical supplies we’re going to need, especially when we…” _Get Clarke back_.

 

Bellamy pulled up short. “Chancellor… Abby. You’re not coming with us.”

 

Abby immediately bristled. “Like hell I’m not. That’s my daughter out there – “

 

“And we’ll get her back, I promise. But Abby, our people need you. They’re scared, and some of them have been abducted. They need a stabilizing presence right now, especially when there are so many Grounders around.”

 

“But…” Abby shuddered, and Bellamy moved on instinct, wrapping his arms around her as she folded into him. He felt her take a deep breath, voice very quiet. “She’s the most important thing in my world.”

 

“I know.”

 

They stood like that for a moment before Abby slowly managed to get a hold of her emotions and take a step back. “Bring her back.”

 

Bellamy nodded. “I will.”

 

And he would, or he wouldn’t be back at all.

 

* * *

 

An hour later, the group was readying to leave. Raven, though still injured, had quickly and with Wick’s help made a brace that would do for the journey. “No pain, no gain,” she quipped.

 

Silke nodded sagely. “That is very wise.”

 

“It’s just a saying.” When Silke’s face remained blank, Raven continued. “You know, like, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going?’ No? Nothing? Okay, never mind.”

 

Bellamy shook his head as Octavia and Lincoln joined them. “What’s going on?” she asked.

 

“No idea.”

 

Octavia put her hand on Bellamy’s arm, and he glanced down at her. “We’ll get her back, Bel.”

 

“I know that. But stick close to me or Lincoln, okay, O?”

 

She huffed out a laugh. “How about you two stick close to me? I’ll protect you.”

 

Lincoln looked like he agreed. Bellamy smiled. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

“Bellamy,” he heard, and he turned to see Lexa and two _Trikru_ guards leading Tygon towards them. “I am holding you personally responsible for ensuring that this one comes back.”

 

Bellamy appraised Lexa before he nodded. “You’ve got my word.”

 

He turned before he heard Lexa clear her throat again. “Bellamy.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“He’s not the only one you need to bring back.”

 

His eyes met Lexa’s, and some kind of understanding seemed to pass in the glance, and in that moment, Bellamy knew that Lexa might put off a heartless and aloof façade, but deep down, she was clearly as affected as he by Clarke’s abduction. He nodded, and the _Trikru_ Commander led out a small exhale.

 

“I will.”

 

With that, she gave spun around, and her guards followed her. Nearby, Indra finished saying goodbye to Octavia and Lincoln, and Bellamy saw Abby watching from a distance.

 

“Let’s head out,” Bellamy said, raising his voice slightly so everyone would hear.

 

His group immediately fell into line, looking to him. Even Tygon didn’t fight Bellamy’s clear authority, though he kept his face blank and his intelligent eyes narrowed.

 

Raven shuffled along, a new brace on her injured-leg and Wick by her side. “Ready when you are, fearless leader,” she drawled, and a small part of Bellamy smiled.

 

As they began to leave, Tygon stuck relatively close to Bellamy, though he would occasionally cast looks at Lincoln. He seemed to ignore Raven, Wick, and Silke completely, but his gaze finally settled on Octavia.

 

Bellamy didn’t like it.

 

“Don’t even think about it,” Bellamy muttered under his breath as they trekked through the tall dunes in the waning light.

 

Tygon smirked. “Think about what, _Gona_?”

 

“You know what.”

 

Tygon finally looked away, settled his eyes instead on Bellamy. “Tell me. It is clear you are in love with Clarke, and yet you care deeply for that woman as well. But it is different, and she is with the _Trikru Gona_.”

 

Bellamy didn’t answer for a few minutes, wondering whether he should just ignore Tygon, or if it would be harmless enough to tell the Desert Tribe Commander.

 

Tygon waited patiently, and finally Bellamy answered. “Octavia is my sister.”

 

“Ah. That does explain it. Love for a sibling is something that cannot be surpassed by anything.”

 

Tygon’s response didn’t sit well with Bellamy. There was something poignant in the tone, but the man’s face gave nothing away.

 

“Do you have brothers or sisters?” Bellamy found himself asking. Despite himself, Tygon intrigued him. He hated the man, and he would kick his ass when this was all over… But there was something about him that Bellamy found to be slightly kindred, and it both infuriated and fascinated him.

 

Tygon cleared his throat. The rest of the group was far enough behind or ahead that they couldn’t hear this conversation, but Tygon still spoke lowly. “I did.”

 

He didn’t respond, and Bellamy prompted Tygon to continue. “What happened?”

 

“I had a brother. His name was Aleks. He was nine years my senior, and I looked up to him more than anyone else in the world.”

 

Bellamy glanced at Octavia, Tygon’s words resonating with him.

 

The Desert Commander continued, “He taught me everything. How to hunt. How to make shelter. How to fight. His favorite traps were all made with wire, and he taught me how to build up defenses with them, how to use technology to lead. He taught me to think with my head, but always trust my gut. He told me I had good instincts, and that I must always do right by my people.”

 

Bellamy noticed as one of Tygon’s fists reflexively clenched. “One day we went to a summit. With the Tree Clan. My father was _Heda_ at the time, and Aleks was next in line. I was not allowed to participate in the talks. I was only 11.”

 

“Then your tribe and the Tree Clan were allies then?”

 

“At the time, yes,” Tygon said. “My father was a ruthless man. He was strong, but not kind. He was not merciful. The other nations did not agree with his tactics. Well before Lexa took command, the _Trigedakru_ were led by their _Heda_ Catriona. The peace talks were going surprisingly well… for a time.”

 

Tygon’s anger seemed to increase with every word, and he very nearly spat out both Lexa’s name and that of the past Tree Clan Commander.

 

“I remember it very well. One day things were fine. I snuck out to see more of the Tree Clan territory. My father was constantly scolding me then, but Aleks had given his consent. I knew he would cover for me. Then, that night, we were ambushed. An attack on my father and his heirs, only I was nowhere to be found. My father survived, managing to call upon his guards, and a fight ensued. Aleks was killed in action, his body found near Catriona’s.”

 

Bellamy cleared his throat. No wonder the Tree Tribe and the Desert Clan had a blood feud. “They killed each other.”

 

“So we were told.”

 

Bellamy’s brows knitted together. Tygon’s wording was… strange. “No one saw it?”

 

“Someone saw it. My father believed it. And up until this morning, I had too.”

 

Bellamy sucked in a deep breath as understanding began to dawn. “Jago.”

 

“Yes. Jago. My trusted Second. He almost died himself in the fight, and he was unable to save Aleks, though together they did manage to fight off Catriona.”

 

“And now, Tygon? Now what do you believe?”

 

Tygon looked directly at Bellamy, and in his eyes burned a sort of cold fury that was terrifying to behold. “I believe I must finally seek the truth that I have always been too blind to see.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke stumbled once again as Jago yanked on the chain, and her knee scraped on the floor, blood beading to the surface through the cuts. Jago seemed to delight in seeing her bleed, and he hummed to himself as he dragged her forward. They finally reached his chambers, and while it wasn’t nearly as grand as they had been back in the Desert Tribe encampment, Jago clearly had some authority here with the Wastelanders.

 

Inside the room was a large tub, filled with water. Nearby was a large pallet, and Clarke felt her pulse began to rise in alarm as Jago leered at her. “Strip,” he commanded, pointing to the tub.

 

“No.”

 

“A _Fisa_ should know that she should disinfect her wounds, yes? You’re filthy.”

 

As he began to advance on her, Clarke gripped the chain attached to her collar hard. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

 

A sudden knock on the door caused Clarke to nearly jump out of her skin, but she was grateful one second later when a Wastelander knocked on the door and wasted no time in opening it. Jago growled under his breath before he barked at the man in Grounder, asking what he wanted.

 

The man glanced at Clarke before he continued. “It is time to ready the missiles. Artigus said – “

 

“Artigus does not command me. I am my own _Heda_ , and you will not bother me,” Jago breathed out, and the Wastelander looked shaken.

 

Until another man stepped into the room. He was not as imposing as Jago, but something about him didn’t sit right with Clarke. He gave her a once-over, but he seemed largely disinterested in her as he focused on Jago, who seemed to have settled down.

 

“Jago.”

 

“Artigus. I am busy, as you can see.”

 

“I do see that. But I sent someone to fetch you because I wish to aim the missile. _Now_.” Artigus eyed the other Wastelander before he suddenly lashed out. A knife seemed to appear in his hand from nowhere, and he used it to puncture the man’s neck.

 

The Wastelander fell to the floor grabbing at Artigus, who took a languid step back. He gasped out a final breath, and two more Wastelanders appeared. “Butcher the body. Serve it up,” Artigus said, and the two nodded.

 

Clarke felt her stomach turn over. This man… _was a cannibal_? He couldn’t mean that.

 

But looking at him, and at Jago’s stilled reaction and respect, she realized that this man Artigus was bad news. What was that old Earth saying?

 

“Come along,” Artigus said. “You can bring the girl.”

 

Jago huffed, but he was moving, yanking Clarke forward as he went. As she walked past him, he grabbed at her waist, pulling her closely to the point where Clarke could smell his breath as he whispered hotly into her ear. “Make no mistake, _Fisa_. We aren’t done here.”

 

He let her go, and she tried to calm her racing pulse as they followed along after Artigus, heading for the missile launch site.

 

And the expression Clarke had been searching for came to her like an epiphany. Out of the pan, and into the fire.

 

And Clarke couldn’t help thinking this would probably end with the whole world burning.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I don't own THE 100 or its characters.

Chapter 26

 

Well, this sucked. Raven understood that they were in a hurry. Sure, Clarke was in trouble, and yeah, a homicidal sadist had some launch codes that could pretty much destroy an entire tribe of Grounders, but did that mean she had to be subjected to _this_ humiliation?

 

As she rode piggyback, hands clutched around Wick’s shoulders, she sighed for what seemed like the millionth time as she supposed yes, this was not that great a price to pay considering what their mission was. It wasn’t like her having to admit defeat to her wounded leg and hitch a ride from Kyle Wick was killing anyone.

 

Except for her pride.

 

“That’s an awful big sigh from an awful little girl,” Wick rumbled, and Raven lightly slapped his shoulder.

 

“Don’t call me a little girl.”

 

To Raven’s annoyance, Wick chuckled. Man, he really was the worst. _But it was a cute chuckle_ … She sighed again as she pushed the thought from her head. She really didn’t know what was going on between her and Wick, but he had come to her rescue. A regular old knight in shining armor. Or engineer in shining chrome, she guessed.

 

“Well, I am carrying you, right?”

 

“Kyle…”

 

His arms gave her legs a little squeeze, and Raven felt herself calming somewhat. “I’m just kidding, Wrench Monkey. We all know that given another day or two, it’d be you giving _me_ a piggyback ride. That’s what happens when someone’s as strong as you are.”

 

She felt herself starting to smile, so she pursed her lips instead, trying not to give him the satisfaction.

 

“Well, guess it’s a moot point. Since we didn’t have a day or two. And hopefully we get there in enough time to help Clarke and stop the launch, and I’m just a burden. Slowing us down.”

 

Wick didn’t say anything for a minute, and Raven was starting to feel pretty shitty about her confession. Didn’t he know it wasn’t easy to be honest like this? The last time she’d been this real with someone, he’d cheated on her pretty much as soon as they were separated.

 

Okay, so that had been a different situation, and in hindsight Raven had realized that Finn had thought he’d never see her again and yeah, Clarke was pretty great, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted as Wick spoke up again. “You’re not a burden, Raven. If anything, you’re gonna save all of us. I know I give you crap a lot, but…” He trailed off, and Raven subconsciously tightened her hold on his shoulders.

 

“But what?”

 

“But you’re the best of us. Nobody down here would be alive if it weren’t for you.”

 

Raven made a sound of disbelief. “That is _not_ true.”

 

“Isn’t it? I heard about how you blew up that bridge when the Grounders were coming, how you got the radio working. You’ve pretty much consistently saved everyone’s asses. And with an injury like yours, pretty certain most people would be sitting around feeling sorry for themselves. But not you.”

 

Raven was quiet. She had been feeling sorry for herself. But there hadn’t been time to dwell, what with everyone going on. “You wouldn’t have either, Kyle.”

 

“False! I’d be kicking it back at camp, drinking Monty and Jasper’s moonshine, hoping you’d come around and give me a run for my money.”

 

Her face was hot, and she wondered if Wick could feel the heat emanating from her cheeks. Their faces were close. If he just turned his head ever so slightly… Raven tucked her mouth into Wick’s shoulder to hide her smile. From the corner of her eye, she peeked to the side to see him grinning, and somehow, she couldn’t find it in herself to give him a hard time about it.

 

They jogged in silence for a while. Up ahead, Silke spoke with Octavia and Raven. Behind her, she could hear Bellamy and Tygon speaking, but their tones were low and hushed, and she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, up ahead, Silke pulled up short, and she and Lincoln seemed to converse quietly.

 

Wick’s hands began to loosen under her thighs, and Raven felt herself sliding down his back as he let her down. Raven looked around, seeing nothing but the barren desert surrounding them. “Guess we’re here. Wherever here is,” she muttered.

 

Bellamy looked to Tygon. “Where is it?”

 

Tygon was silent for a moment as he considered. He began to walk off, slowly as he examined the ground.

 

Octavia turned to Bellamy. “You’re not worried he’s gonna run off?”

 

Bellamy’s eyes didn’t leave Tygon. “He won’t. He wants to find them as much as we do.”

 

Octavia didn’t quite look like she believed him, but she nodded, accepting what Bellamy was saying. She turned to see Silke eying Bellamy appreciatively. Octavia smiled and leaned in, speaking quietly so that probably only Raven would overhear. “He’s taken.”

 

Silke looked pointedly at Lincoln, and Octavia gave off an amused huff. “Not by me! Gross. Bellamy’s my brother. But why do you think he’s so desperate to get Clarke back?”

 

Silke shrugged. “No harm looking.”

 

Raven grinned, edging closer to them. “Amen, sister.”

 

As the three women smirked at each other, Lincoln and Wick met each other’s eyes. A mutual agreement that yes, all women really were crazy.

 

Everyone’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden _whirring_ sound as Tygon stood on the side of one particular sand dune. Following Bellamy’s lead, the rest jogged up, seeing that there was some kind of hidden door in the side of the dune.

 

Tygon stood, looking to Bellamy, and Raven noticed a strange sort of truce must have settled between the two of them. “So?” Bellamy began.

 

“This is one of the entrances. It would have been impossible to find without those coordinates, but I remember coming here in the past.”

 

Bellamy nodded as he began passing out walkie-talkies. “Once we’re inside, where do we go?”

 

“There are three main areas. One houses the missile, the other contains extra drones that can be manually turned on, and one wing is barracks.”

 

“Clarke is probably in the latter,” Bellamy stated, voice soft. He turned to address the rest of the group. “We’ll have to stop them from turning on the extra drones and getting the missile launched. Wick, Raven, you two are on missile duty. We’ll need someone to watch your backs.”

 

Silke stepped forward. “I offer my aid in that.”

 

Raven smiled at Silke, who returned the favor. “Aw, I think I might want to keep you after this.”

 

“Bring my sister too and you’ve got yourself a deal,” the tough Grounder replied.

 

“Great,” Wick said, throwing his hands up in mock exaggeration. “As if Camp Jaha didn’t already have enough spitfires.”

 

Raven and Silke both crossed their arms, looking at him in a way that suggested he was deeply stupid. “You can never have too many.”

 

Bellamy turned to Lincoln and Octavia. “O, I hate to split off from you again… But I need you two to get to the drone area and ensure that the Wastelanders don’t give an already-uneven fight even worse odds.”

 

“I’ll take care of her,” Lincoln began, but Octavia stepped forward, putting her hand on Bellamy’s arm.

 

“I’ll be fine, Bel. I’ve got Lincoln with me, and you know I can handle this now. So trust me, okay?”

 

He grabbed her in a sudden hug, feeling her arms loop around him. They didn’t have much time to waste, but this was Octavia, and it tore him up to know he wasn’t there to protect her. But she was right, and both of them knew how strong she’d become. “I know. I do.”

 

He let her go, turning to Tygon. “You’re with me. We go straight to the barracks where Jago is probably keeping Clarke. Once we’re inside, we move quickly. We rendezvous back up here as soon as our respective tasks are done.”

 

Tygon let out a small smirk. “Agree, _Gona_. Just one problem. The combination to the door seems to have changed. We can’t open it. No one has ever been able to break through this before.”

 

Bellamy felt a small body pushing him aside as Raven limped forward, interlacing her fingers and cracking her knuckles. “Well step aside, pretty boy. Because while others may have tried, this door hasn’t met Raven Reyes yet, and this mechanic has yet to meet her match.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke stumbled as she tried to keep up. This man Artigas had set a demanding pace, and Jago clearly seemed to respect him enough to try and keep up. They wound around several hallways until the ceilings began to gradually slope up and Clarke found herself walking into a large antechamber.

 

That housed a fucking huge missile.

 

Clarke’s heart dropped into her stomach as she stared as the old weapon, remembering from her history lessons on the Ark what had happened to the Earth during the time of the Cataclysm. No wonder humanity had destroyed itself. With weapons like this, how could anyone have survived?

 

On the side of the missile was a large console, and Jago tugged Clarke’s leash as he followed Artigas there.

 

“Let’s not dawdle any longer,” Artigas began. “It takes a while for this old weapon to warm up. According to scouts, it seems the majority of your village have joined the Tree Clan in the woods.”

 

_Which meant that everyone was in one spot_. Clarke’s heart began to pound. Her mother. Lexa. _Bellamy_. Everyone was together. “You can’t,” she breathed, and for the first time, she felt her skin crawl as Artigas spared her a glance.

 

“We can, and we will momentarily. Thanks to your _friends_ , Mount Weather has been dealt with, and now the nearby _kru_ will be dealt with as well. To the victor belong the spoils.” Artigas said, walking closer to her. He smiled, and Clarke shuddered as she realized that his teeth had been filed into sharp points.

 

He reached out, grabbing a lock of her hair. Clarke tried to rear back, but the collar choked her, and she found she couldn’t move further. “I haven’t enjoyed the… _pleasures_ of a woman for quite a while,” he said, eyes narrowed, before he turned back to the console. “Perhaps we will celebrate after.”

 

But Jago had other ideas. “This one is mine. You can have the other.”

 

Artigas appraised Jago before shrugging. “Fine by me. Now, let’s aim this rather quickly.”

 

A sudden blaring noise caused everyone to startle. Artigas barked at a nearby Wastelander, who seemed to stutter in response. “I-intruders… The h-hatch has been compromised.”

 

“Impossible!” Jago shouted. “The combination was changed.”

 

Artigas remained cool and collected as he walked to the console. “Jago. Tell me, _now_. What are the coordinates of the _Trigedakru_?”

 

Jago quickly gave the coordinates, and Clarke watched as chaos began to take hold of the Wastelanders around her. They must have thought they were impenetrable. But now? Someone had broken through the door.

 

And Clarke couldn’t help but smile, but she knew the only mechanic capable of such a feat. Her friends had come.

 

Her glee was short-lived as Jago began tugging on her collar once again. “I’m going to gather my weapons,” Jago said, addressing Artigas as he turned away. The man coolly appraised them, making no move. Clarke glanced at the wall. The missile had been set, and a countdown had started. Twenty minutes.

 

Twenty minutes until the missile launched and spelled imminent death for her friends and family.

 

Twenty minutes to save everyone’s lives, even if it cost her her own.

 

Jago dragged Clarke through the halls, and she tried desperately to remember the path back to the antechamber. She had to be able to turn off the missile. But what if she couldn’t?

 

She shook her head. No time to dwell on that now. And if Raven was here, that meant that Bellamy was here. He’d come through, once again, just as he always did.

 

Clarke began to recognize the hallway she was in, and Jago was suddenly pushing her through the door and into the room where Hava was sitting in a cage. “Clarke,” the girl said, clearly pleased at seeing her friend.

 

But Clarke didn’t have time to dwell as Jago suddenly pushed her up against a wall, his hands groping her sides and chest as he leaned forward, leering. “I’ve waited for this long enough, _Fisa_.”

 

“Are you insane?!” Clarke began. “You’re undersiege.”

 

“No one will deny me any longer.” Jago had a crazed look in his eyes, and Clarke’s heart rate picked up as she realized he might actually be insane. He suddenly leaned down and forced his mouth upon hers. When his hands grabbed her chin, squeezing her cheeks in a bruising manner and forcing her lips open, his tongue slipped into her mouth, and Clarke bit down, _hard_.

 

Jago shouted and threw her to the side. Clarke slammed to the ground, and the breath left her lungs on impact. As she looked to the side, though, she noticed a crowbar lying on the floor. One of the Wastelanders must have left it from earlier.

 

Jago came at her, and Clarke made a desperate grab. Her fingers gripped the bar and she flung it around, smacking Jago to the side. His head wrenched to the left with the force of the hit and he slammed to the ground.

 

“Clarke!” Hava shouted, and Clarke stood, shaking from adrenalin, as she approached the cage.

 

“Hava, quick. Where are the keys? Have you seen them?”

 

Hava pointed to a nearby cabinet. “There, top drawer.”

 

Clarke reached into the top drawer, hands scrabbling until they alit on something, anything. And then finally… Aha! She pulled the key out, hastily trying to undo the lock. And with a small _click_ , Hava was freed.

 

“Clarke,” Hava cried, reaching forward to grab the blonde in a hug.

 

“C’mon, there’s no time to waste,” Clarke began, but she coughed out as she was yanked backwards by the chain of her collar. Jago had stood up, and Clarke choked as he threw the chain over a beam on the ceiling, yanking up the other side and pulling Clarke onto her tiptoes as the chain began to hang her.

 

Clarke clawed at her throat as Jago yanked the chain further. Her toes were barely touching the ground now and she was beginning to see dots in her vision.

 

“I’ll have you, even if you’re nearly dead,” Jago spat out, crazed. “You’re _mine_ , Clarke. And you will be _forever_ , and you’ll live knowing I’ve killed everyone you loved.”

 

This was the end. If Jago didn’t kill her, he’d certainly take what he wanted, and she could nearly feel the seconds ticking away as the missile prepared to launch. And there was so much more left to do, so much left unsaid to those she really cared about. She needed to forgive her mother. She needed closure with Lexa. And Bellamy? She just needed _him_.

 

And just as Clarke could feel herself losing consciousness, the tension in the chain suddenly dropped and Clarke fell to the ground, gasping for breath, as Hava wielded the forgotten crowbar and swung it with all of her might on the back of Jago’s head. As Jago crumpled, Hava swung again, and this time Jago was out for good.

 

Clarke tried to catch her breath, and she stared up at Hava, who dropped the crowbar as it if were on fire as she stared at her hands. “Hava,” Clarke croaked. “Are you okay?”

 

Hava nodded, bending down to check on Clarke. She had tears in her eyes, but Clarke could see her trying to reign in her emotions. “I-I’m sorry. I just, I saw you, and I was worried, and I wished a warrior were here to save you. A-and then I remembered what you said: a strong girl just needs herself.”

 

Clarke pulled Hava into a quick hug. “You did good, Hava. You saved my life. Now help me up. We have to go.”

 

Hava pulled Clarke’s arm over her shoulders and stood, pulling them both into a standing position. “Where are we going?”

 

“I’ll direct us. Just help me walk at first,” Clarke rasped, throat and lungs still burning. But she was alive, and there was still time to fix this. To save everyone. There was still hope.

 

And as they pried the door open, Clarke felt it all come crashing down. Artigas stood there, grinning down at them, two burly Wastelanders behind him. “Hello. _Clarke_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos/comments :)


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I don't own THE 100 or its characters, but I'm really excited for Season 3!

Chapter 27

 

Raven’s handiwork had done the trick. They’d managed to break through the door, and once in the tunnels, Octavia and Lincoln had separated from the group based on directions from Tygon. Thought Bellamy hated to admit it, the man was efficient, intelligent, and he seemd to genuinely interested in helping them, if only to satiate his bloodlust to kill Jago.

 

With one last look after his little sister, Bellamy had turned towards the Desert Comamander. “Lead the way.”

 

They needed to ensure that Raven, Wick, and Silke found the missile launch room. Once they had made it there, Bellamy and Tygon would be free to look for Clarke and Jago. Wick carried Raven on his back, and though he could see how much this pained the proud girl, she obviously knew how high the stakes were. No time for any bullshit now, anyway.

 

Surprisingly, the tunnels were relatively clear. Two Wastelanders had come at them along the way, but Tygon and Silke had quickly and easily taken care of them. Bellamy only hoped that most of the men hadn’t diverted to where Octavia and Lincoln were.

 

Ahead, a small antechamber sloped off the right side. Tygon pointed as they neared it. “Through there is the missile launch area.”

 

As they neared it, everyone slowed. Wick let Raven down from his shoulders. The hatch door didn’t so much as budge as Silke tested the handle. “Locked.”

 

“Ah. That is because I have brought you to the side entrance. I am certain the main foyer will be heavily guarded.” Tygon grinned, and Bellamy found a like expression growing on his face before he wiped it off. He refused to like the guy, and he resolved to get his emotions in check.

 

“So they can sneak in,” Bellamy stated.

 

Raven nodded. “The element of surprise. But don’t they know about this door?”

 

Tygon shook his head. “They would have to be very gifted indeed to open this lock. It is one of the oldest mechanical ones left from before the Cataclysm.” His eyes gleamed as he shot Raven an appreciatory wink. “And only one person I have met has the capability of breaking into such a door.”

 

Raven rolled her eyes, but Bellamy could see her trying to fight the smile on her face. Wick took on an almost possessive stance behind her, which Tygon instantly clocked. The Desert _Heda_ held up one hand defensively, taking a step back.

 

Raven moved in front of the door, cracking her knuckles. “I’ve got this.” She looked to Bellamy. “All right, Blake. I’m about to hold up my end of this deal, so you’d better not screw up your part of the bargain.”

 

Bellamy shot her a lopsided grin, feeling fondness bubble up within him for the sassy mechanic. “Ouch, Raven. I think you owe me a pint of Monty and Jasper’s moonshine when we’re back at camp for that one.”

 

“Seems like _you_ should be buying _me_ a drink after this one,” Raven said.

 

“Though I’m glad you two are best pals now, seems like this maybe isn’t the time for team bonding,” Wick said, gently pushing Raven towards the door.

 

She interlaced her fingers as if stretching for the main event. “Go get our girl, Bellamy.”

 

And with that, Bellamy and Tygon were off once more.

 

* * *

 

 

This had to be some kind of record. No, really, a part of her found it a little funny, even though Clarke knew this was no laughing matter. She’d been kidnapped three times in a row, and she found herself getting more and more annoyed by it. First by Tygon, then Jago, and now Artigas and the Wastelanders. Did she have some kind of sign on her back that indicated she was a hot commodity?

 

Whatever the case, Clarke pushed her inner snarkiness down as she was prodded down the hall. At least Hava was beside her. Surprisingly, the girl wasn’t sniffling or crying. Instead, a strange sort of calmness had settled over her, as if her latest act of heroism had broken her out of her shy and demure shell for good.

 

Ahead, Artigas completely ignored her. Unlike Tygon and Jago, Artigas felt predatory in an entirely different way. While Tygon had been interested in not just her but also her intellect and sway as a leader, and Jago had clearly just wanted her for her body, Artigas seemed the cold, ruthless type; he seemed just slimy enough to know that she would make a good bargaining chip, and Clarke felt that at least that bought her and Hava some time.

 

But then again, he had ordered one of his own men to be butchered and served up. He didn’t seem to abide by any rules, and his scruples seemed nonexistent. His aura didn’t come off as mysterious like Tygon’s, though. Instead, it felt heavy and threatening, and Clarke found herself shivering as he ordered his men about.

 

Once or twice, he looked back at her, eyes cold, before he’d turn around. The path they were taking did not seem familiar, and Clarke’s hopes began to plummet as they they went further and further into the base. Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat and spoke, “Where are we going?”

 

When no one answered, Clarke yanked on the chain of the collar, sharply tugging one of the Wastelanders backwards. The Wastelander retaliated by slapping her in the face with the back of her hand, angered that she’d made a show of his weakness and her strength in front of his commander, but Artigas held up a hand as Clarke stood up.

 

“We are leaving. I’ve created a sort of back door, let’s say, for this very occasion. You see, this is not a true launch site. The missile will incinerate everything in these tunnels when it launches,” he said, tone incredibly dismissive despite the gravity of his words.

 

“But… But your own men are still down here,” Clarke said.

 

“Yes, it would seem some are. Those in the know are the ones worth keeping, I think. No matter.”

 

This was _not_ good. Her friends were down here, and they probably had no idea. If they couldn’t stop the missile…

 

“But why are you taking us?” It wasn’t that Clarke wanted to die in this base, but she did find it strange that he would drag them along.

 

“You are clearly in high demand, seeing as to how both Jago and Tygon were slavering after you like half-bred mongrels. If I need you as a bargaining chip with any survivors we cannot pick off, so be it. Otherwise, I think you’ll fetch a nice profit if we do business with other nation’s vagrants.” His teeth gleamed as he smiled at her, and

 

And as Clarke found herself being dragged forward, she knew she had to get a warning out to Bellamy and the others before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

With a small _click_ , the door swung open just barely. Raven smirked at Wick. “Looks like we can call this a point for Team Mechanic.”

 

Wick flicked her forehead, and she swatted at him before Silke interrupted in a whisper. “Quiet! There are many of them, though Tygon was correct. They are huddled around the main console and the entrance to the foyer.”

 

Raven and Wick poked their heads around the corner. There were at least 30 Wastelanders in there. Absolutely no way they could possibly fight them all. But the main console… That was the only way they were going to be able to disarm the missile.

 

“Shit. I guess that’s why we didn’t run into anyone in the tunnels. They’ve diverted all their manpower down here,” Wick whispered.

 

“Perhaps I can fight them. Give you enough time to turn off the missile,” Silke suggested.

 

Raven frowned. “Who knows if we’d be able to switch off the missile that quickly. And besides… You would die, Silke. And Vyla would never forgive me for that.”

 

“I have an idea,” Wick whispered. Raven realized how close he was. She could feel his breath on her neck, and a part of her seemed to lean back into him. Of course Wick would think of something. “But it’s a little crazy.”

 

“I would not expect anything else from the two of you,” Silke said drily.

 

“There, about 100 feet away, is another console.”

 

Raven studied it. “That’s not going to be enough to deactivate the missile. See, it looks like it’s not connected to the engine, just the propulsion. Probably just for testing the missile to make sure it’s not dead.”

 

Wick looked excited. “Precisely. We can’t deactivate from there, but we’ll most likely be able to test that propulsion…”

 

Raven was starting to catch on, “By firing up the fuel cell, it’ll burn out anything in the general area. You’ll incinerate anyone too close to the missile.”

 

“And every single one of those Wastelanders is within that radius,” Silke said. “But so is that console. Whoever does this might get hurt.”

 

“I’ll do it,” Wick cut in.

 

“Like hell you will,” Raven growled, but he interrupted her.

 

“Raven, we need you to deactivate the missile. You’re our best hope for that. And besides, you can’t run.”

 

“I will do it,” Silke stated, but Wick shook his head.

 

“You can’t. You need to protect Raven in case any of them survive. And besides, it will take too long to explain how to fire up the propulsion.”

 

Wick’s points all made sense. Even Silke couldn’t find it within her to argue against his case, but Raven felt her throat constrict. “Kyle. Don’t do this.”

 

“Raven – “

 

“We can think of another way. Let’s just calm down for a second and consider other possibilities.”

 

“We don’t have time. If one of us doesn’t do this now, that missile might go off, and these Wastelanders might kill all of us.”

 

Raven barely had time to think as Wick suddenly pressed his lips up against hers. She quickly melted into his embrace, her arms twining around his neck to pull him closer.

 

But it was over too soon, and he was grinning at her as he pulled back. “And I’m not ready to let you die yet, Wrench Monkey. I like you too much for that.”

 

“Kyle!” Raven whispered, but he was already off, slinking around the periphery of the room towards the second console.

 

And Raven was left holding her breath, clutching Silke, and praying to whoever was listening that the man she’d fallen in love with wasn’t going to die in front of her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Something was nagging Bellamy. He could feel it in his gut. Something was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Octavia run off on her own with Lincoln. Maybe Raven wouldn’t be able to stop the missile.

 

Maybe he was too late to save Clarke.

 

He let out a noise of frustration, and Tygon shot him an inquisitive look.

 

“Nothing,” Bellamy said.

 

“Good. Don’t let it cloud your head, _Gona_.”

 

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. “Is that your version of a pep talk, Tygon?”

 

Tygon let out a huff, and Bellamy realized he was amused. “It benefits me if I do not have to fight alone.”

 

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Bellamy stated drily. “We’re only on the same side for the time being.”

 

“Sure. You say that now, but we will see what happens after I save both you and your girl.”

 

Bellamy studied Tygon. The comment itself could have been taken either way, but somehow… It seemed like the man was joking around. “Yeah? We’ll just see who does the saving. That’s kind of my thing.”

 

“Ah, _Skaikru Gona_ , hero of his people.”

 

“You wouldn’t expect it, would you?”

 

Tygon looked over, meeting Bellamy’s eyes. “Of course I would. I saw it from the first instance I saw you. You could not hide that instinct to lead from me. Just like you could not hide your love for Clarke.”

 

With that, the smile slipped right from Bellamy’s face. Tygon began to slow, and Bellamy followed suit. In the rapport, Bellamy had forgotten his hatred for this man, but the mention of their first meeting filled him with silent rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

Tygon had stopped in front of a door. His voice was low, and Bellamy knew they had reached their destination. “I don’t know much about you, Bellamy Blake, but I am very good at reading people. And I think we both know that you are lying to yourself.”

 

Before Bellamy could respond, Tygon swung open the door. And Bellamy found himself staring over the Desert Commander’s shoulders into a completely trashed chamber. And no sign of Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm ALIVE!! Sorry it's taken so long to update. I know how this story ends and will hopefully finish it before the end of the year. Thanks for reading! xoxo, TATF

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! So I'm coming over from fanfiction.net (find me there at the author profile for too addicted to fiction), and this already has 17 chapters over there, so I'll be posting more over here just to try it out as well. I feel like THE 100 fandom (especially we Bellarke shippers!) spend lots of time over here, so I realized I better give it a shot. I'd love to hear thoughts, and hope everyone has a great weekend! Best, TATF


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